Page 24 of Ink Me Three Times
I’ve been in Coyote Glen long enough to know the morning air smells like pine and burnt coffee, that Penny is committed to her princess spy veterinarian bit, and that no matter how hard I try to stay detached… it’s not working.
Penny’s warm little hand in mine. The way she leans against me when she’s tired. The way she lights up when Freddie walks in.
It gets me.
Even when I tell myself this isn’t my life. That I’m just here to help, earn a paycheck, and breathe.
And yet…
This morning, she makes me pinky swear I won’t let the "evil laundry dragon" steal her socks. And when I laugh and tell her she’s ridiculous, she beams like I just handed her the moon.
And I know.
I’m in trouble.
But my peace is short lived.
It’s late afternoon when Penny begs to go to the park. Not asks… begs. Full puppy eyes. Whimpering. Dramatic collapsing to the floor like she’s been personally victimized by gravity. I don’t stand a chance.
The air is warm, late spring turning toward summer, and the light has that golden, cinematic quality that makes everything look nostalgic in real time. I let her race ahead, her tiny jelly sandals slapping the pavement as she barrels toward the jungle gym like it owes her money.
I’m halfway through calculating the most likely ways she could get a concussion when she screeches and veers toward a bench near the swings.
"Oh no," I mutter.
Because it’shim.
Mitchell.
Of course it is.
He’s halfway through a sandwich, one hand holding a book, sunglasses low on his nose. His boots are stretched out in front of him like he’s got nowhere else to be, like he owns the whole damn bench. Which, knowing him, he probably does.
Penny launches herself onto the bench beside him. "Mitchell! I found a sparkly rock! Wanna see it?!"
He doesn’t flinch. Just shifts his sandwich out of her trajectory like he’s used to getting ambushed by chaotic toddlers in the wild.
"Let’s see it, then," he says, his voice that same deep, slow drawl that I still hear in dreams I pretend I don’t have.
I freeze. For just a second. My body goes still like it’s trying to weigh the pros and cons of bolting into the woods. Maybe faking a medical emergency. Anything to not walk over there.
He looks up.
Our eyes meet.
His face? Blank.
No flicker of recognition. No smirk. No tension. Just unreadable calm. Like I’m a stranger.
Like I’m not someone he’s seen naked.
Again.
I force myself forward, each step weirdly heavy, until I drop down on the other side of Penny with all the grace of a malfunctioning marionette.
"Mitchell," I say, cool as I can manage.
He nods. "Ivy."
