Page 43 of Reclaim Me

I don’t argue.

On the way back to her car, I run through a list of possible reasons why Rae wouldn’t be able to rent that building and make her dreams of opening a school a reality, and the only plausible explanation is money. Starting a business is nothing more than one financial stress after the other, which is usually what stops people from taking the leap into entrepreneurship. I won’t pretend to know what Rae or Aaron’s bank accounts look like, but I assumed they were well off. I mean, if they’re doing well enough for Aaron to drive the latest Audi and rock suits with four-figure price tags, then I think he should be able to figure out how to get a building for Rae in one of the more reasonably priced parts of town.

If it were me….

Well, it’s not you.

The mental reminder is enough to keep my thoughts and questions to myself for the remainder of our short walk. When we’re standing in front of Rae’s car, I drop down to one knee in front of Riley while her mom stands back, giving us some privacy.

“Thanks for the ice cream, Ri.”

She smiles, and there’s still a bit of vanilla on the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome.”

I open my arms, hoping she’ll grant my final request of the night, but more than okay if she doesn’t. “Can I have a hug?”

To my surprise, she comes running, crashing into my body with the kind of force I wouldn’t usually attribute to someone her size. She wraps her arms around me, dirty fingers sticking to my shirt. I can’t bring myself to care as I fold her into my embrace, making sure not to squeeze too tight even though I don’t ever want to let her go. My eyes turn misty as I breathe in her scent for the first time, pressing my nose into the cloud of curls that smell like shea butter and cocoa and Riley. It’s the most perfect scent. The most perfect hug. She’s the most perfect girl, and my heart is full of love that builds and builds and builds until I have no choice but to let it go.

“I love you, Ri.” I release her, swallowing hard to keep the tears at bay. “I hope you have the best day at school tomorrow.”

“Can I call you and tell you about it?”

“I would love that.”

“You’ll have to give Mommy your number, and then she’ll give it to me,” she says. Her little voice is full of authority as she backs away, turning toward the car. “Goodnight, Daddy.”

There’s nothing forced or unnatural about that word on her lips, but I’m still stunned by the ease with which she uses it. “Goodnight, Daughter.”

Again, she giggles, trapping the innocent sound of happiness in the car with her when she closes the door. I turn to Rae, my eyes stretched wide. “Did I hear that right?”

She moves closer to me, tainting the air around me with the scent of pears and vanilla. “Yep, no first names over here, just titles.”

My excitement wanes just a little. “Oh, so she calls Aaron…”

“No.” Rae shakes her head. “She’s never called him anything but Aaron. Apparently, she’s been waiting to meet you before pulling the D word out.”

In the small, pettiest part of my brain, I take extreme satisfaction in knowing I’m the only person Riley has ever referred to that way, and I have to change the subject just to make sure it doesn’t show on my face.

“I told her she could call me after school tomorrow and tell me about her day.”

“I heard. Dee isn’t going to like that. She’s usually Riley’s first call after school.”

A fond smile pulls at the corner of my lips at the mention of Rae’s lifelong best friend. “How is Dee anyway?”

“She’s good, living in Michigan and getting paid to gossip with the clients she’s supposed to be helping.”

“So, still up to her same shenanigans.”

“Yep,” Rae says, pulling out her phone and extending it to me once she’s got it on the ‘add a new contact’ screen. “Put your number in and I’ll make sure she calls as soon as she gets in the car. Pick-up is at three, and we’ll be calling about ten minutes after that, so please make sure you answer.”

“I will,” I promise, typing my number in and then handing the phone back to her. She looks down, preparing to go through the motions of saving it, when she notices something.

“You still have the same number?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” My brows pull together, forming a tight line that says I don’t appreciate the judgment in her tone. She rolls her eyes but still course-corrects. “I mean, I just don’t think I know anyone who’s had the same number for over twenty years. Why have you kept it for so long?”

I could lie. I probably should lie, but I don’t like the idea of ending the first day of our new beginning on a dishonest note.

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