Page 27 of Love on the Edge
It’s disarming.
Because it tells me everything about the kind of person he is.
And I like him.
Not just in the abstract, not just in the physical way I spent an entire night trying to forget. I like him in a way I wasn’t expecting, in a way I didn’t see coming, in a way I don’t know how to stop.
And that should be my cue to walk away.
To bury it. To shut it down before it turns into something I can’t control.
But I don’t.
And maybe that’s the real problem.
As CC and Ileave the rink, she's chatting up a storm, but I can’t listen. My mind is somewhere else. On Valeria.
The way she worked with CC, the way she pushed her but still showed kindness. I saw a side of her I hadn’t expected—steady, patient, strong.
She gave that side of herself to CC. With me, it’s different. Guarded. Like she’s holding something back.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. I can’t. She’s Nina’s best friend. I’m a single father. She has her whole life ahead of her, and I’m still untangling myself from a marriage that failed.
A failure.
"Are we going to Grandma and Grandpa’s for dinner?" CC asks, practically bouncing in her seat.
"Yeah, squirt. We’re going tonight," I reply.
We pull into our driveway, and before I even put the truck in park, CC is already unbuckling herself, hopping out before I can tell her to slow down.
I follow her up the porch, boots creaking against the old wood. The front yard looks the same as ever—patchy grass, gardengnomes CC and Nina thought were funny, a porch that could use another coat of paint. I keep telling myself that I’ll fix it. Mom says I need to. Dad says it’s fine the way it is.
The screen door slams shut behind me with its usual clang. Inside, the air smells like leftover takeout and stale coffee, maybe a hint of the cinnamon candle CC made me buy last week.
The living room is the usual mess. CC’s toys are scattered across the floor, books stacked half-open where she left them. One of them, a fairy tale book Nina gave her, rests on the couch with a crumpled blanket beside it, left where CC and I curled up reading last night. The couch cushions are lopsided from our last movie night, and there’s a smudge of peanut butter on the coffee table. I swipe at it with my thumb, shaking my head.
"CC, don’t eat too much," I warn as she heads straight for the kitchen, already rummaging through the fridge.
I bend down to grab her bag and toss it on the hook in the mudroom.
By the time I step into the kitchen, CC is peeling an orange at the table, feet swinging beneath her chair.
"Did you see how fast I was going today?" she asks, already mid-story, her face lighting up as she talks.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and lean against the counter, listening.
I don’t understand half the moves she talks about, the jumps, the spins, the way she breaks it all down like a puzzle she’s constantly solving. But I know that look in her eyes. The way her whole face lights up, like nothing else in the world matters.
That’s enough for me.
"Okay, hop in the shower! We're heading to Grandma's!" I cheer.
I’m sure Nina is already there, helping Mom cook.
I sit on the couch, scrolling through my phone, but I don’t have to wait long. CC comes bounding down the stairs, dressed and ready, a brush in her hands. I already know what’s coming.
She stops in front of me, holding it up like an offering. "Can you do my hair, Daddy?"
