Page 22 of Pin-up Girl

Regina and I had shared custody. During the summer, Dee spent weeks at my house and weekends with her mom, aside from anything dance related. That all took place by Regina. During the school year we’d swap, and Dee would be up there during the week, so she could go to school with her friends, and because I was a teacher.

A short while later, we got back to town, and I took us to Kingu Kafe instead of home. We headed inside.

“Can I get coffee?” Dee asked as we headed inside.

“Absolutely not. You don’t even like the taste of coffee.”

Dee wrinkled her nose. “But mom says it’s good for me.”

She said what? “It’s not good for your heart.”

“Mom said my baby fat is why my heart is broken.”

My anger spiked. When I picked Dee up earlier, Regina had asked when I was moving all of Dee’s things to her place, so she could move in full time.

I’d told her absolutely not, and that we had the doctor appointments covered. I refused to tell her how I pulled off paying for all of it, but I could promise honestly that I wouldn’t skimp on care.

Now I was wondering, was sending Dee back to her mom’s at all a good idea?

I didn’t have a choice—custody and all that—but I didn’t like it.

I pointed Dee toward the register. “Get a hot chocolate and a muffin, like always.”

“No.” Dee stopped in the middle of the room, and the people behind us grumbled a few choice words under their breath as they cut around us.

Your mom is a cunt sometimes, and she’s wrong when she says you need to lose weight. You’re a scrawny ten-year-old, for fuck’s sake. I swallowed the retort. There was a fine line between trying to undo her mother’s brainwashing and not badmouthing Regina, and I didn’t always land on the right side of it.

“Hey kiddo. Clint.” Aubrey’s voice came from behind.

Dee’s bad mood vanished in an instant. “Bree.” She squealed and spun to hug Aubrey. They were Dee and Bree because Dee liked the way it rhymed.

Aubrey returned the hug then pushed her toward the register again. “What kind of muffin are you getting?”

“I don’t want a muffin,” Dee said.

“No? Can I have yours?” Aubrey asked.

I was grateful she showed up when she did. She was so good with Dee. “We’ll have the usual,” I told the cashier. We came here at least once a week, and it was always the same. Hot chocolate and blueberry muffin for each of us.

“Make that three.” Aubrey chimed in. “But ring mine up separate.”

“Put it all together.” I corrected her.

The cashier looked between the two of us, as if trying to decide who to listen to. I handed over my debit card first, so I won.

“Did you eat muffins when you were a dancer?” Dee asked Aubrey.

Aubrey nodded. “Of course.”

“Did your heart ever break?”

A frown flashed across Aubrey’s face. It vanished quickly, but not fast enough that it stayed hidden.

Dee’s scowl was back.

I took my drink and hers, and Aubrey grabbed her own plus the bag of pastries. We found a table near the window, and settled in.

“My heart didn’t break the way you’re thinking,” Aubrey said. “Muffins have never made me sick, and I eat them all the time.” She pulled one from the bag and handed it to Dee.

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