Page 6 of Nolan

Marco chuckles. "Rich people and their fancy patios."

"Rich people pay our bills," I remind him, but I'm smiling too. The truth is, I don't mind catering to the wealthyhomeowners who want custom concrete work. They pay well, they recommend me to their friends, and they let me flex my creative muscles beyond basic foundation pours. They also let me take care of my daughter without having to work eighty hours a week.

I stand up, wiping my hands on my jeans, leaving dusty gray handprints on the denim. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I check the time. I've got that video call with the potential client in fifteen minutes, and I still need to clean up.

"I'm going to grab a quick shower in the site trailer," I tell Marco. "Can you and Luis handle the stamping? I want the cobblestone pattern to be subtle, like we discussed."

"No problem," Marco says, already reaching for the spray bottle of release agent. "We got this."

In the trailer, I quickly rinse off the concrete dust and sweat, changing into a clean company polo shirt that I keep for client meetings. My phone buzzes again with a reminder about the call. I take a seat at the small desk in the corner, run a hand through my damp hair, and open my laptop.

The video call connects, and I'm face to face with Brian Harding, a contractor I've worked with a few times before. He's got a new client building a custom home just outside of town.

"Nolan, good to see you," Brian says, his voice tinny through my laptop speakers. "How's business?"

"Can't complain," I reply, adjusting my laptop so the sunlight isn't glaring off the screen. "We're booked solid through August, but I wanted to make time for your project. You mentioned a front porch pour?"

Brian nods, shuffling some papers off-screen. "Yeah, the homeowners are looking for something special. Let me get them on the call."

A moment later, a couple joins the video. They introduce themselves as the Walkers, first-time home builders with plenty of ideas and an obvious excitement about their project.

"We're thinking about a wraparound porch," Mrs. Walker explains, gesturing with her hands. "With some decorative elements, maybe a custom color mix?"

I listen carefully, making notes and offering suggestions. This is the part of my job I've gotten good at, translating what clients envision into something I can actually create with concrete, rebar, and the right finishing techniques.

"I can definitely work with those ideas," I tell them after they've finished describing what they want. "I'll draw up a detailed proposal and send over some photos of similar projects we've done."

By the time we end the call, the Walkers seem thrilled, and Brian gives me a thumbs up before disconnecting. I close my laptop, feeling that small surge of satisfaction that comes with landing new business.

I step back outside to check on the crew's progress with the stamping. It's looking good, the faux cobblestone texture emerging from the smooth concrete surface. They've got it under control, which means I can leave a little early today.

"I'm heading out," I tell Marco. "Text me if anything comes up, but it looks like you've got it handled."

He nods, focused on the precise movements of the stamp. "We're good here. Say hi to the little princess for me."

The mention of Ashlynn brings an immediate smile to my face. "Will do."

During the drive to the park, I try not to think about Annabelle. I really do. But somehow, between checking my rearview mirror and stopping at a red light, she's there in my mind again, the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, howshe bites her lower lip when she's concentrating on something Ashlynn is telling her.

That kiss two weeks ago was a mistake. But it doesn't stop me from thinking about it, and the more I think about it, the more I'm willing to change my mind about whether it's something I'd like to do again or not.

I shake my head, forcing myself back to the present as I pull into the parking lot of Riverside Park. I spot them immediately,Ashlynn's bright pink shirt is impossible to miss as she runs around the playground, with Annabelle following close behind.

Ashlynn notices my truck and comes racing toward me, her little legs pumping as fast as they can carry her. "Daddy. Daddy. You came early."

I scoop her up, lifting her high into the air and earning a delighted squeal before bringing her down for a hug. Her small arms wrap tightly around my neck, and I breathe in the scent of strawberry shampoo and playground dirt.

"I missed my girl," I tell her, setting her back down. "Thought we could play for a while before dinner."

"Belle and I are playing tag. You can play too." She tugs on my hand, already pulling me toward the playground.

And there's Annabelle, standing by the swings, looking like she belongs in a magazine rather than a public park. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She smiles when she sees me, and my stomach does that ridiculous flip thing that I thought I was too jaded to feel.

"You're early," she says as we approach. There's a hint of something in her voice. Maybe it's excitement? Nervousness? I can't quite tell.

"Job went smoothly," I reply, suddenly aware of the concrete dust still embedded under my fingernails despite the shower. Next to her pristine appearance, I feel rough around the edges.

"Swings, Daddy. Push me on the swings." Ashlynn demands, already climbing onto the nearest one.

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