When My Boyfriend Let Her Call Him Daddy

I quit my job three months early.

I walked away from a year-end bonus most people would kill for. My boss in London stared at me like I'd lost my mind.

"Seven years, Kathryn," he said. "You can't wait ninety more days?"

"No," I said. "I can't."

Seven years of video calls. Seven years of five-hour time differences and "next year, babe, next year." I was done waiting for a life to start.

I boarded the red-eye with a carry-on full of little gifts. A tin of shortbread he loved. A navy scarf. Cufflinks I'd picked out on my lunch break. I didn't sleep. I just kept picturing his face when I walked through the door.

I landed at noon and killed the afternoon in a hotel lobby, so I could catch him after work. By six, I was standing in front of his building in Tribeca. Brick walls. Iron-framed windows. The same private elevator.

I still had the key. He'd given it to me our first year. "Just in case you ever surprise me," he'd said.

Well. Surprise.

I stepped into the foyer, and my smile slipped.

It happened in three beats.

First, the furniture. The sofa had been dragged to the window. The reading chair I loved was gone.

Second, the shoes. A pair of small blue sneakers sat by the door, Velcro straps still open.

Third, the smell. Onions and cumin. Somebody was cooking. Greyson Hamilton did not cook. In seven years, I'd never seen him do more than boil water.

My fingers tightened on my suitcase handle.

Then a door banged open. Small feet pounded down the hallway.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

A little boy, maybe five, shot past me like I was a coat rack. He threw himself at the man stepping out of the study.

Greyson.

He caught the boy without even thinking. One arm under him, the other hand on his back. He'd done it a hundred times. I could see that.

Then he looked up and saw me.

The color left his face. "Kat."

"Hi," I said. My voice sounded very far away.

A woman came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on an apron. Soft brown eyes. Soft voice. Hair pinned up like she'd just stepped out of a catalog.

The apron was gray linen, with my initials stitched in the corner. K.T. I'd bought it in Paris.

"Oh!" She pressed a hand to her chest. "You must be Kathryn. I'm Lina. Lina Morales. Greyson's told me so much." She smiled, a little shy. "I'm so sorry. I hope we're not intruding."

We.

I looked at Greyson. "Who is this?"

"My friend from childhood," he said. "And that's Andres." The boy buried his face in Greyson's neck. "Let's sit down. I'll explain."

He said it in the voice he used with clients. Calm. Rehearsed.

I sat on my own couch, in its new spot, like a guest.

Lina took Andres to the kitchen. Greyson sat across from me and rubbed his jaw.

"Her mother donated a kidney to my mom," he said. "You know that. Eleanor wouldn't be alive without her."

"I know the story. I don't know why her son calls you Daddy."

"Lina's divorced. It was ugly. Andres has attachment problems. His therapist said he needs a stable male figure." He spread his hands. "So I'm helping. Temporarily."

"Temporarily. In our apartment."

"Kat."

"You didn't tell me."

"Because I knew you'd react like this." His jaw tightened. "Look at you. You've been home five minutes, and you're already keeping score."

Heat crawled up my neck. "I'm asking a question."

"You're being cold." He said it quietly, which made it worse. "And petty. Her mother saved my mother's life. What kind of man would I be if I turned them away?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

He was so sure. His face was so open and righteous. For a second, I actually wondered if I was the problem. If seven years of distance had turned me into someone small.

So I swallowed it. The anger, the questions, all of it. It sat in my throat like a stone.

"Fine," I said.

He exhaled and reached for my hand. "Thank you. I knew you'd understand."

I let him hold it. I didn't squeeze back.

That night, I lay in the master bedroom, staring at the ceiling. The suitcase sat unopened in the corner. Gifts still inside.

Greyson was in the shower. Through the wall, I could hear Lina's voice in the guest room, low and sweet.

"And the little bear said, 'I'll always come back for you.'"

Andres giggled. Then it went quiet.

I turned my face into the pillow on Greyson's side, hoping for something familiar. His soap. His skin.

I smelled perfume.

Jasmine, a little amber. Almost mine. Close enough that my stomach dropped. Not close enough to prove anything.

I lay very still.

The shower shut off. Water dripped in the silence.

And I realized I was holding my breath, like someone in a house that wasn't hers.