Page 35 of Imperfect Arrangement
I came in here to make work calls, but suddenly all I can focus on is Willow’s voice. She’s reading with way too much dramatic flair, almost like she’s auditioning for an off-Broadway play. Unlike when I read to Quill, where she listens quietly, soaking up every word, tonight I can feel her engagement. I don’t even have to see it—it’s a dad thing. I just know.
Willow’s reading the same lines I’ve repeated to Quill countless times, but somehow they sound…different coming from her. Livelier. Like the words are dancing off the page, coming to life in a way I didn’t know they could.
Before I know it, time has slipped away. Grandpa Will appears at my office door, a knowing look on his face. “Dinner’s ready.” He steps inside. “How are we feeling about the new member of the household?”
“She’s not a new member. She’s a temporary employee,” I reply, maybe a little too quickly.
The old man shrugs, completely unbothered by my denial. “You can say whatever you want, but I’ve never seen Quill this happy with anyone else. Not even with you or me.”
Well, that felt like a direct hit.
“Then she’s a damn good employee,” I bite out, trying to keep my voice steady, even as something inside me twists at his words.
He chuckles, the kind of laugh that’s full of experience and a little bit ofI know you better than you think. “You sometimes still act like that six-year-old boy I first met.” Before I can ask him to take those words back, he adds, “Let’s invite our new guest.”
Guest. Yeah, that sounds better.
A good reminder that Willow is temporary—no matter how comfortable she’s already starting to get around here.
The house staff has barely finished setting the dinner table when Quill once again attaches herself to Willow’s side, like she’s been part of the family for years. Captain Lick is camped out at my daughter’s feet, devouring his food like it’s his last meal. At the rate he’s going, he’ll finish before the rest of us even pick up our forks.
Willow glances up at me, and for the first time since she arrived, there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I can have Captain Lick eat in another room.”
I shrug, doing my best impression of someone who’s totally fine witheverything. “It’s no big deal. Quill likes having him here.” My answer earns me the brightest smile from my daughter, and despite the strange tension building inside me, that smile still manages to warm something in my chest.
But as I’m about to stand up, I catch Willow casually cutting Quill’s meat into little bite-sized pieces. My fists clench under the table. Another thing she’s swooped in and claimed—without asking.
Quill, of course, beams at her new nanny like she’s the second coming of Mary Poppins, while I sit across from them, chewing through my food as though it’s roadkill and not something prepared by a former Michelin-star chef.
The table falls into a quiet lull, but inside, I’m battling a storm of annoyance, frustration—hell, maybe even jealousy. I feel all of it at once.
As if sensing my rising tension, Grandpa Will clears his throat. “I hope your room is comfortable, Miss Pershing. If you need anything at all, just let me or the staff know.”
Willow nods, still chewing, then swallows before responding. “Thank you so much. Everything’s great and it’s so thoughtful of you to get a new bed for Captain Lick, but you didn’t have to go through all the trouble. I’ve got all his stuff with me.”
“No trouble at all. We want our furry guest to feel just as welcome.”
“That’s really sweet of you.” She beams at Grandpa Will. “And please, call me Willow. I insist.”
As dinner winds down, I turn to her, my voice cool and direct. “After dinner, I’d like to have a word with you.”
Willow nods, her expression unreadable; still, I can’t stop myself from staring. I don’t think I’ve ever been this restless in my own damn house.
“I’ll take Quill to her room and then come find you?” she offers.
The words are barely out of her mouth and I yank the napkin from my lap and drop it beside my plate. If that napkin were glass instead of cloth, it would’ve shattered into pieces. “Why don’t you let me handle my daughter’s bedtime routine?”
Her smile wavers, and instantly, there’s this uncomfortable twist in my chest. I’m familiar with Willow’s emotions—her sass, her bite, her disappointment. In all our time together one thing has become painfully clear. I can handle her anger, but her sadness is a whole different mess.
“I mean, you probably need to take your dog out or something,” I add, scrambling to soften the blow.
Her brows knit together. She seems confused by my sudden backpedal, but then nods slowly.
Before I can dig myself deeper, Quill taps the table with her small hand. “I’m done, Daddy.”
I’m out of my chair in a flash. “Great. Let’s get you ready for bed, Bug.”
Her new, bright yellow pajamas are already laid out neatly on the bed, catching the soft glow from the bedside lamp.
