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“Yup.” I nod, then repeat, “Pick a place.”

“Oh my gosh!” she squeals, jumping up and down. “Dad, you’re the best!” She runs over and gives me a giant hug, squeezing me once before releasing me and hurrying to retrieve her phone. “I’m going to start looking right now. What do you think about Maui? Or maybe we should go to Europe? Is Europe on the table?”

“Wherever you want,” I say firmly, warmth settling over me. This is good. This is really good.

“Europe,” she says, awe in her voice. “Can you imagine me in Europe? Ooh, in France. Oui, oui, monsieur.” She lets out a high-pitched giggle that makes it pretty obvious she’s imagining this monsieur to be a cute teenage boy.

“Maybe not France,” I say hastily. “How about, I don’t know, Sweden?”

“Sweden?” she says dubiously.

“Yeah. I hear it’s great there this time of year.” False. I never really hear anything at all about Sweden. Which, more importantly, means I’ve never heard anything about Swedish boys sweeping American girls up in some sort of whirlwind romance. French boys? Yes. Italian? Absolutely. Sweden? It may happen, but at least it’s not a popular romance trope.

“I guess I’ll consider it,” she says, still doubtful. “But, like, don’t count on it.”

“Great, and while you’re at it, maybe consider somewhere like Alaska or Greenland.”

“Eww, Dad. Those places are, like, so cold.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?”

“Never mind.” I reach over and grab a sweatshirt that’s lying discarded on her desk chair. “Just, you know, cold weather is cozy. Requires lots of layers.” I toss the sweatshirt at her, then turn to go. “Let me know where you decide,” I call over my shoulder, and I hear her squeal with excitement one more time.

I go back into my bedroom feeling pleased with myself. I’m already on track to being a more present dad. I just have to keep up this trajectory. I return my attention to my suitcase, finishing up my packing quickly. Once I’ve packed everything on the list—aside from the boots and the hat, neither of which I even own—I zip up my suitcase and set it on the floor near the foot of our bed.All that’s left is my satchel. I stare down at my laptop for a full minute. Then I pick it up, but instead of sliding into my bag, I set it on my nightstand. If I work late into the night tonight, I should be able to leave work behind on this trip.

Chapter 7

Jill

“You’rejoking.”Maxstaresat the box in my hands with an expression that can only be described as alarm.

“Why would I be joking?” I reply, proffering the box one more time. “We’re going to a Montana dude ranch. You need a cowboy hat, so I got you a cowboy hat. I got myself one too,” I add, gesturing to the hat on my head.

“That’s great for you, but I’m not wearing a cowboy hat,” he informs me.

“Max, c’mon. Everyone will be wearing them.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

I stare at his resolute face and feel my enthusiasm fizzle. This was not how I saw this interaction going. I thought he’d pick up on the flirty vibes I was laying down when I walked in wearing my cute cowgirl hat and said, “Howdy, partner,” but instead he barely looked up from his laptop.

I envisioned him donning the hat I’d bought for him and sweeping me into his arms for a little do-si-do action. Clearly my cowboy fantasies are one-sided.

I didn’t even get to show him the boots I got for us.

“Right. Okay, fine.” I nod and let the box with his hat drop to my side. “Sorry, it was just an idea.” I set all my purchases aside and head to our walk-in closet to get my pajamas on.

“Jill,” I hear Max call after me, but I wave him off.

“It’s fine, Max,” I lie. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Jill, c’mon, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.” This is true. Anger is not my primary emotion. More like disappointment. Or possibly embarrassment. Here I thought I looked cute in my festive cowgirl hat, and he barely even looked.

“I’ll take the hat, okay?” He speaks from behind me now, having followed me into the closet. I don’t turn around, though. I don’t want him to see the hurt in my eyes.