Page 91 of Imperfect Arrangement
“Yes, Wills?”
I ignore the way my nickname sounds on his lips, warm and safe. “What about these?” I point at the mess we’ve made.
He glances at the green chaos, and a grin spreads across his face like he’s been handed the best gift in the world. “I think they’re a great bonus.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, shaking my head.
When we return to the ramp, clean and paint-free, Raymond is sitting on the steps, wiping his feet with a washcloth.
Confused, I glance at the ramp. And that’s when I see it.
Raymond’s prints circle mine, which cocoon Quill’s tiny ones in the center as if we’re protecting her. But the detail that steals my breath is the tiny heart painted between Quill’s prints. And it’s terrifying how much I want to be part of this life he’s building—paw prints, paint smudges, and all.
I shake my head to bring my mind to the right place.
Raymond has labeled his footprints Raymond Teager on one and Ray in quotes on the other. For mine, he’s written Wills on one and Willow on the other. The only thing missing is my last name.
“It’s Pershing, in case you’ve forgotten,” I point out, trying to find some balance between annoyed and flustered.
He stands, towering over me. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing about you, Wills.” His voice is low, rough, and it lands squarely in my chest. “Maybe I just don’t like some things the way they are.”
And just like that, Raymond Teager has me completely undone. He doesn’t give me a second to process his cryptic words before he’s on his knees in front of Quill.
“You know your birthday is coming up soon,” he starts, his words gentle in a way that makes my chest ache. “I wanted to ask…if you’ve thought about what you want from your dad as a gift, Bug?”
My ears perk up immediately. Even though we’ve planned some fabulous surprises for her big day, I’m curious to know what’s been brewing in that little mind of hers.
Quill’s face lights up, like she’s been sitting on this idea for a while. Of course she has. This dad-daughter duo is full of surprises lately.
She signs, “Can I go to the Ferris wheel, Daddy?” Her big eyes sparkle with hope, and I burst into laughter, doubling over.
“Oh my God, Quill. You sneaky little bunny. You totally cornered your dad!”
Ray chuckles, dragging a hand through his hair, his lopsided grin making him look entirely too charming for his own good. “She definitely did,” he says, glancing between me and Quill. “Okay, you can go to the Ferris wheel. But not tomorrow. I’ll let you know when.”
“Okay,” she signs, and without hesitation, she throws her little arms around his neck.
The world shifts.
Every time Quill spontaneously shows him affection, Raymond’s expression turns serious. His eyes flutter shut for the briefest second, like he’s holding on to this moment with everything he has, soaking it in and storing it somewhere safe. It’s a look that always twists something deep inside me.
When she finally pulls back, he looks down for a second, composing himself. Then his voice steadies, returning to the calm, practical dad I’ve come to know.
“Now, you get ready for bed while I clean up out here.”
* * *
I walkto the pergola with a stack of mock-up invitations for Quill’s party. They’re printouts I’ve been tweaking for days. I brought them to get Raymond’s input—or at least, that’s the excuse I’m telling myself. Lately, it feels like I need a backup topic, something harmless and neutral in case I have to redirect a conversation veering into dangerous territory. The kind of places Raymond seems to navigate with ease while I flail.
Wrapping my shawl tighter around my shoulders, I breathe in the cool night air. It’s crisp and clean, with a faint trace of paint lingering from earlier.
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
His voice makes me jump, my eyes flying open to see Raymond standing there, tray in hand. The same tray from earlier. But this time, it holds two mugs, and I know they’re filled with his signature hot cocoa.
He hands me a mug and takes the seat across from me. I clear my throat, determined not to let him throw me off-kilter tonight. I’m holding on to my sanity by a thread anyway, so I launch the conversation into a safe zone.
“I can’t believe you actually agreed to Quill’s Ferris wheel request.”
