Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“You really liked your lesson with him?” I pull out the pancake mix and a bowl.
“He knew everything.” She props her chin on her hands. “And he didn’t talk to me like I’m a baby. Some adults do that.”
I know exactly what she means. I’ve seen it happen. People hear she’s ten and immediately shift their voice up an octave, simplifying their vocabulary. Darian didn’t do that. He talked to her like a person who happened to be learning something new.
“Did you feel comfortable with him?” I ask, cracking eggs into the bowl.
“Yeah.” No hesitation. “He’s like Benny, but cooler because he knows about music.”
“Would you want him to teach you guitar?” I keep my voice casual, measuring out milk.
“Can he?” Her whole face lights up. “Would he really?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask him.”
“Please, Mom? Please?” She’s practically bouncing on the stool now. “I promise I’ll practice every day. I won’t complain about it like I did with piano.”
Piano lasted exactly three lessons before she declared it boring. But last night, she didn’t want to leave the guitar shop. She would have stayed there for hours if I’d let her.
“Let me think about it,” I say, pouring batter onto the griddle.
“That means yes.” She grins at me. “When you say you’ll think about it, you usually say yes.”
“Not always.”
“Most of the time.”
She’s right, and we both know it. I flip the first pancake and she cheers when it lands perfectly.
“Can I have chocolate chips in mine?” she asks.
“Already ahead of you.” I sprinkle them onto her pancakes.
We eat breakfast together, Lily chattering about different types of guitars, what she learned about frets and strings. She remembers everything Darian told her. Every detail. She does that with things she actually cares about.
“Mom?” She pushes her empty plate away. “Do you like him?”
“Who?”
“Darian.”
Kids are too perceptive sometimes. “He’s a friend.”
“But do you like him?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You smiled a lot last night.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah. You looked happy.”
Out of the mouths of babes. I did feel happy last night. Watching them together, seeing how gentle he was with her, how she responded to him. It felt right in a way I wasn’t expecting.
“I’m going to get dressed,” Lily announces, hopping off the stool. “Just in case we go somewhere today.”
She disappears down the hall and I’m left with dirty dishes and too many thoughts. I load the dishwasher slowly, giving myself time to process.
The truth is, I’ve been careful about who I let into Lily’s life. It’s mostly been just us. The occasional date here and there, but no one who met Lily. No one who mattered enough.
But Darian feels different. Every interaction has only reinforced that initial instinct. He’s genuine. Real in a way that’s rare in this city.
And Lily connected with him immediately. No wariness, no holding back. She just accepted him as someone worth knowing. Kids have good instincts about people. Better than adults sometimes.
My phone sits on the counter where I left it. I pick it up, unlock it, and stare at the message screen. This is a decision. A real one. Not just about guitar lessons or weekend plans, but about letting someone in. About acknowledging that what’s developing between us might be worth the risk.
I think about his face when he saw us in the guitar shop. The genuine surprise followed by that warm smile. The way he included Lily naturally, without forcing it or trying too hard. How he looked at me over her head when she was examining a guitar, just a quick glance that said more than words could.
“Mom, can I wear my green dress?” Lily calls from her room.
“It’s Saturday. Wear whatever you want.”
“The green one makes me look serious. Like someone who would be good at guitar.”
I laugh despite myself. She’s already planning for guitar lessons I haven’t even arranged yet.
But maybe I should. Maybe it’s time to stop being so careful, so protective. Not careless, just open to possibility. Open to the idea that some people are worth the risk.
I open my text messages and find his name. Type, delete, type again.
What I want to say: Last night meant something. Seeing you with my daughter showed me something I needed to see. I think about you more than I should. This feels like it could be real.
What I type: Are you free this weekend?
Simple. Direct. An opening.
I hit send before I can overthink it.
The response comes faster than expected. Three dots appear immediately.
For you? Always. What did you have in mind?
I smile at my phone like a teenager. Lily appears in the doorway wearing her green dress, hair brushed and pulled back in a ponytail.
“You look nice,” I tell her.
“I want to be ready. Just in case.”
Just in case. Maybe that’s what this is. Being ready, just in case this turns into something. Just in case he’s exactly who he seems to be. Just in case my daughter’s instincts are right and he’s worth knowing.