Page 22 of Falling for Cocky Cole
I give Emily the phone. Her smile is already fading, sensing what’s coming.
12
IVY
"But you promised!" Emily's voice rises to a pitch that could shatter Grant's kitchen windows. She clutches the phone in her small hand like it's personally betrayed her, and in her mind, I suppose it has. Her father's tinny voice apologizes from the speaker, explaining about a last-minute emergency with an important guest's request. Friday Family Hours at the diner—sacred tradition since before Liz died—officially canceled.
"I'm sorry, princess. I'll make it up to you tomorrow," Grant says, his exhaustion evident even through the phone.
"Tomorrow isn't Friday! It won't be Friday milkshakes if it's not Friday!" Emily's logic is flawless in that uncompromising way only children can manage.
I hover awkwardly near the kitchen counter, feeling about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Grant asked me to stay until he got home, probably expecting I'd be reading books with Emily or watching a movie—not navigating the emotional minefield of broken traditions.
"Ivy will make you dinner, and I'll be home as soon as I can," Grant continues, his voice strained with the particular guilt of single parenthood.
Emily's lower lip trembles as she looks at me, then back at the phone. "But Mommy always said Friday shakes were special. You said we'd always do them."
The line goes quiet for a beat too long, and I wince. Liz has been gone just over a year, but for Emily, time is still measured in the absence of her mother—by all the traditions that might slip away, one broken promise at a time.
"I know, sweetheart. I'm trying?—"
Emily hangs up. Just pushes the red button with a decisive little thumb and throws the phone onto the couch. Her face crumples, not gradually but all at once, like a paper bag in a downpour.
"Hey, it's okay," I start, taking a step toward her. "We can do something fun here instead. Maybe bake cookies? Or?—"
Her wail cuts through my suggestions like a chainsaw. "I don't want cookies! I want my milkshake with Daddy!"
Before I can offer another alternative, she bolts to the toy chest in the corner and upends it with surprising strength. Stuffed animals rain across the floor. She grabs her favorite fox—a russet-colored plush with a fluffy tail—and hurls it across the room.
"Emily!" I rush over, but she's already grabbed a second fox toy and sends it flying in the opposite direction.
"It's not fair! Daddy promised!" Each word punctuates another projectile fox.
I kneel beside her, ducking as a small plastic fox figurine whizzes past my ear. "I know you're disappointed. What if I take you for milkshakes instead?"
She fixes me with a withering look that would make her uncle Grant proud. "You're not my daddy. Or my mommy."
The words aren't meant to hurt, but they land with precision anyway. I'm not family—not really. I'm just the girl who watches her sometimes, who happens to be her uncles' friend.
"What if we build a fort? Or..." I'm running out of ideas when a knock at the door interrupts my failing negotiation.
Emily's sobs hiccup to a pause as we both turn toward the sound.
"I'll be right back," I tell her, grateful for the momentary reprieve.
When I open the door, Cole Carter stands on the porch, one hand casually propped against the frame, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes brighten when he sees me.
"Ivy Walker," he says, my name rolling off his tongue like he enjoys the taste of it. "I was hoping?—"
A particularly theatrical sob from Emily cuts him off. He peers over my shoulder, eyebrows rising. "Bad time?"
"Grant canceled their Friday Milkshake tradition to have dinner with a potential investor. She's..." I gesture helplessly toward the living room, where Emily has resumed her fox-throwing with renewed vigor.
Cole steps inside without waiting for an invitation, moving past me with the confidence of someone who knows he's welcomeanywhere. "Hey, Miss Emily," he calls, navigating the minefield of scattered toys. "What's all this about?"
Emily's tear-streaked face turns toward him. "Uncle Cole!" She runs to him, arms outstretched, and he scoops her up with practiced ease.
"I hear there's a milkshake emergency," he says, voice serious despite the smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
