Page 35 of Doughn't Let Me Go

I’m a firm believer in keeping my promises.

My phone buzzes, and I already know it’s Mel before I look at the screen. She’s as impatient as I am sometimes. That’s why we get shit done.

MEL: Would you like me to cancel your next interview?

ME: Yes.

* * *

“How isit possible you look relaxed and even more keyed up at the same time?” Foster eyes me from his doorstep. “Take a wild one home last night?”

I grit my teeth. “Is my daughter here?”

“Somewhere.” He pushes off the doorjamb, and I follow him inside and into the kitchen, where there’s a big spread of sandwich supplies across the island counter.

Mike, Foster’s yellow Lab, lazily makes his way over to me for pets. Not far behind him is their chocolate Lab—because apparently they have a thing for them—Prison. He’s the opposite of Mike, all activity and tongue hanging lopsidedly out of his mouth.

He skids into me, nearly knocking me over with his weight.

“Hey, fellas,” I say, bending to give them my attention. They both get right up in my face, their wet noses nuzzling against me. Maybe I should get Kyrie a dog.

Speaking of my child… “Where’s Kyrie?”

“Who?”

I pin him with a glare, standing.

He doesn’t shrink away.

“A lot has changed since you last saw her. She changed her name,” he informs me. “We are now supposed to call her Your Majesty, Queen of the Tea Party Room.”

“Just the tea party room?”

He shrugs, dipping his knife into the mayonnaise. “She dreams, but not very big.”

“I’ll make sure I work on that with her.”

He nods, continuing to spread the condiment on the bread I hope he knows to cut the crust off of.

“You have to do both sides,” I tell him as he moves on to loading the sandwich with everything Kyrie likes—cheese.

Yep, just cheese and mayonnaise.

Kid is weird.

“Trust me, Her Majesty has already given me very specific instructions. Three pieces of cheese and mayo on both sides. No crust. Cut into squares because she likes to ‘act fancy’ while she eats her finger foods.”

I laugh and take a seat at the island. “Just think, in a couple years, Nellie is going to be running this kingdom.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters.

“Did you at least have fun with my hellion last night?”

“Between her snoring—which is absurd for a seven-year-old—and Nellie crying, there was hardly any sleep to be had.” A smile tugs at his lips. “But it was so much fun. We built a fort in the living room and watched roughly eighty billion hours of princess movies.”

I glance that way. Place is a wreck, though I didn’t even notice it before. Probably something to do with all my years of living in disaster. I’m blind to it now.

“I’ll make sure she helps clean up.”

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