Page 95 of Role Play
“What’s a beckett-call?” she asks, dead serious.
“Never mind, sweetheart. Just ask me first whenever you need anything.”
We find Sora in the kitchen, slicing cheese for the sandwiches. The domesticity of the scene hits me square in the chest—Sora at the counter, preparing lunch for my daughter, the three of us about to sit down for a meal together like…like a family. The one I never got. But damn, this version looks even better. I try to shove the thought down. But it lingers, a warm ember refusing to be extinguished.
“Can I help?” Dakota asks, already dragging a chair toward the counter.
Sora looks over, surprised but pleased. “Sure. Want to butter the bread for me?”
“I’m very good at buttering,” Dakota loftily informs her. “Daddy lets me do it all the time.”
This is news to me, but I keep my mouth shut, watching as Dakota clambers onto the chair and accepts the butter knife Sora hands her with all the gravity of a knight receiving a sword.
“Careful,” I warn, moving closer. “Need me to help?”
“I got it, Daddy,” Dakota says with the exasperated tone of someone who has been doing this for decades, not seconds.
Sora catches my eye over Dakota’s head, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. I shrug, silently communicating my surrender.
As Dakota dutifully—and somewhat haphazardly—butters the bread, Sora turns to me. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot if you want some. Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the sink.”
“Thanks.” I move toward the coffee maker, all too aware of the brush of her arm against mine as I pass. The kitchen suddenly feels much smaller than it is.
We work in companionable silence for a few minutes—Sora supervising Dakota’s buttering efforts, me pouring coffee and then setting the table, all of us moving around each other in a dance that feels surprisingly natural for people who aren’t used to sharing space.
“So,” Sora says eventually, “I was thinking we could have a housewarming dinner tonight. Nothing fancy, just the three of us. We could order in? My treat.”
“I like pasta!” Dakota votes enthusiastically, nearly dropping the butter knife in her excitement.
“Pasta it is,” Sora says, smiling at her. “Forrest?”
“Sounds great,” I agree. “But you know our deal.My treat.”
The sandwiches are ready a few minutes later, perfectly golden and oozing cheese. Dakota takes her first bite and declares it “the bestest grilled cheese ever,” which earns Sora a beaming smile.
Watching them together, something shifts inside me—a settling, like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, this sense that something important is happening here, something I didn’t plan for but desperately want.
After lunch, we bring in the rest of our things from the car. It doesn’t take long—most of my possessions are still at the apartment, waiting to be moved over the weekend. Today was just the essentials: clothes, Dakota’s favorite toys, and a few personal items.
Dakota insists on giving Mr. Flops a tour of every room in the brownstone, with Sora as their patient guide. I hang back, ostensibly unpacking but really just watching the two of them together—my daughter’s hand tucked trustingly in Sora’s, Sora pointing out features of each room with the same enthusiasm she might use for a real museum tour.
“And my room is all the way at the top,” Sora explains as they reach the third floor. “On the highest floor.”
Dakota gasps. “Like where the dragon keeps the princess? Can we see?” Dakota asks eagerly.
“Maybe another time,” Sora says. “It’s a bit messy right now. I wasn’t expecting royal visitors.”
Dakota giggles at that, delighted to be treated like royalty. It’s perfect.Too perfect.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text from Rina.
Rina
I have a job for tomorrow night. Available?
Me
Where? I have Dakota full-time starting today. Can’t travel.
