“No reason.”


    There’s no further exnation and within a minute, Haven’s breathing calm, her form limp beside me. I stare up at the dark ceiling and try to trace the conversational paths that led her to that question, but I can’t find any.


    Kids.


    Haven’s master n is revealed the next day.


    Because when I open the front door to my house, home with time to spare before dinner, there aren’t three girls in my house. There are four.


    Be is standing by my kitchen ind with one of my daughters on either side of her, Evie kneeling on a chair to be able to reach. Maria is sitting opposite them, smiling as she watches.


    “And then we crack the eggs… yes, just like that,” Be instructs Haven. “Be careful not to get any shells in the mix.”


    “I want to try! Me!” Evie holds on to the edge of the counter and bounces in a way that makes me very nervous she’ll slip off.


    “Of course you do. Here, why don’t you try in this bowl…”


    She hands Evie three eggs and a much smaller bowl. My youngest immediately busies herself with smashing them against the rim, fierce concentration on her small, ruddy face.


    “What’s this?” I ask. “Have you started a cooking channel?”


    Be jumps at my appearance and I curse myself for scaring her, again. One of my many talents, it seems.


    “Daddy!” Haven runs around the kitchen ind, heedless of the flour on her hands as she hugs my legs. “Surprise!”


    I put a hand on the back of her head. “Surprise indeed. What’s this?”


    Be’s gaze is chagrined, looking from me to Haven. My eldest doesn’t notice. “You’ve been so busy,” she says, “working working working. So we’re making brownies for you. So you feel better.”


    “That’s really kind,” I say, wondering how much is for me and how much Haven just wanted to learn how to make them. It doesn’t matter. The gesture is sweet.


    She grabs hold of my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen ind. I follow obediently, my eyes on Be as she stands rosy-eyed and purposeful, whisking away. How had she been talked into this?


    “Bake with us,” Haven says.


    “I should change.”


    Be looks at my clothes. “It might be toote for that suit.”


    “Right.” Looking down, I take in the flour stains and the trace of batter from Haven’s hug. “Rest in peace, old guy. We had a good run.”


    From the corner of my eye, I see Maria slip off the barstool and head out of the kitchen. Had that been a smile on her lips?


    I lift Evie up and she squeals with delight as I ce her on the counter. She’s rarely allowed to sit up here. “So,” I tell them. “What are we making?”


    The next hour sees perhaps the most uncoordinated baking ever done by mankind. Turns out my kids aren’t brilliant at following orders, and Be is timid about issuing them.


    “Listen to Be,” I tell Haven once. “You wanted to learn how to make brownies, didn’t you?”


    She nods. “Yes. Sorry, Be.”Text ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org.


    My neighbor’s lovely niece smiles, the same soft, kind smile she’d given me the other night. “Not a problem. Do you want to help me add the chocte bits?”


    “Yes!” she says. “Can I taste a few?”


    “Me too!” This is Evie, of course.


    Beughs, and Iugh with her. “It’s hopeless,” I tell her. “Ambitions run high, but the follow-through is weak with kids under eight.”


    “So I’m learning,” she says, her eyes lingering on mine for just a moment too long. It’s such a stunningbination, brown hair and blue eyes. A killerbo. Even with the apron on, the form of her body is clear. Like clockwork, the memory of her topless and sunbathing resurfaces.


    And my mind is back on Impossible Avenue, bypassing Never-Gonna-Happen Street and veering dangerously close to Creep Gutter.


    I try to focus on the task at hand-you’re baking with your daughters, man-but the awareness of Be as soft and warm and womanly stays with me.


    She’s off-limits, I tell myself. Remember the man who left her ce? She’s taken.


    The kids watch in fascinated silence as Be opens the oven and puts in the baking pan. I hold them back, a hand on each of their shoulders.


    “Hot,” I tell them. “No touching.”


    Haven sighs. She’s been told that a thousand times by now. But Evie still loves doing what she’s not supposed to do, and it doesn’t help that she’s mischievous to the nth degree.


    “That’s it!” Be says. “Now we wait for twenty-five minutes.”


    Evie groans, but not Haven. She ps her hand. “And then we eat.”


    “Yes. Well, after they’ve cooled for a bit.”


    “And then you’ll be happy, Daddy.”


    I blink at that. I didn’t think they’d noticed how stressed I’d been this past week… or did she mean longer than that? “Thank you,” I murmur, avoiding Be’s gaze.


    “Boring,” Evie announces, skipping away from watching the oven. “I want to y.”


    Haven dances after her sister into the living room-which serves as a yroom, more often than not, given that I never have visitors. Usually.


    Be looks over at me and silence falls thick between us. “I’m sorry,” she says. “For being here when you got home. You didn’t know… I thought you did. That this was your idea.”


    I wave her excuse away. “Coming home to three beautiful girls baking? I can think of worse things.”


    She looks down, a blush on her cheeks. “All right. Good.”


    Damn it, there I go again, saying things that I shouldn’t be. I’dpletely lost my game and I’m too eager, somehow both at the same time.


    “I’m curious, though,” I continue. “How did they rope you in? Bribes? ckmail?”


    Be chuckles, reaching up to secure her ponytail. Long tendrils-are they called side bangs?-frame her face. “Nothing so malicious. Maria and Haven came over and asked if I was free to help. They said it was okay with you… I assumed you knew.”