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Isla was a fantastic photographer’s assistant and took her job very seriously.

Each pet had a carefully picked out accessory and she gave the world’s best puppy cuddles to the camera-shy dogs. She was so impressive at her jobs that even Tom told her she did great, something he didn’t say to me until I’d been working with him for at least six months.

If it weren’t for Mister Bubbles, the gray British shorthair who was recently dropped off when his owner developed an unfortunate, but very serious, cat allergy, I think Isla would’ve spent the entire day in the photo studio.

But much to Luke’s dismay, as soon as Sadie walked into the room with Mister Bubbles, Isla fell in love.

I was glad she found her furry soulmate, but the rest of the afternoon wasn’t nearly as much fun without Isla’s help or Luke’s brooding presence in the corner of the room.

By the time we finish up with our final model, a white rabbit with big floppy ears, I’m ready for a quiet night on my couch with a glass of wine and Andy Cohen.

I step into the hallway and have déjà vu when Isla yells my name just like she did a few hours ago.

“Miss Pierce!” She runs to me again, but this time I know to brace before she slams into me. “We got Mister Bubbles! He gets to come home with us!”

“Are you so happy?”

“Yes!” She jumps up and down, her voice so high I worry she might set off a riot with the dogs. “Daddy said he can sleep in my room. I’m going to make him a special spot and everything.”

“Wow! Mister Bubbles is a very lucky kitty to get to live with you.”

Isla slips her little hand in mine, and we walk down the hallway toward a waiting Luke, who somehow looks even taller and hotter holding a cat carrier.

Very inconsiderate of him.

“We’re going to the store to buy him a bed and toys.” She looks up at Luke with pouty eyes that would break even the most hardened of criminals. “Right, Daddy?”

“Right, Bear.” He’s putty in her little hands.

I hold open the door for Isla and Luke as we leave The Barkery.

It’s later in the day, but the sun is still high in the sky.

The dry Colorado heat that’s been lingering later into the fall is a rude awakening after spending the afternoon in the cool, air-conditioned building.

Mister Bubbles meows as we cross the small parking lot and sounds just as unimpressed with the heat as I feel.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Isla.” I give her a hug when I reach my car. “If you want, your dad can email me a picture of Mister Bubbles and you can tell the class all about him. Does that sound good?”

“Yes!” Her little fist punches the sky. “Vivian loves cats. She’s going to be so excited for me.”

Vivian sits at the same table as Isla. She has a cat backpack, cat lunch box, wears the same cat-ear headband every single day, and at recess, she recruits girls to play kitten with her.

Simply stated, Isla is not wrong. Vivian is obsessed with cats and will be very happy—if not slightly jealous—of Isla.

Now we just need to get Luke on the same cat-loving page.

The poor guy must’ve asked Isla about a million times if she wanted to go look at all of the dogs before she made her final decision.

There was a bulldog I think he had his heart set on.

I have to give him credit, though; once she made it clear Mister Bubbles was the pet for her, he never tried to change her mind.

That’s something that can’t be said for most parents I see come through here.

He can be a grade-A asshole when he wants to be, but he’s a really good dad.

I wave goodbye to them and watch for a moment as Isla skips next to Luke.

He stares down at her with a look that can only be described as adoration, like the moon and stars only hang because of her.

My stomach clenches, and the dad tears I long thought had disappeared make a very sudden, very unwelcome reappearance and blur my vision.

I hurry to my car, needing privacy in case the worst happens and the tears begin to fall.

I put my key in the ignition, desperate for the air-conditioning to blast through my vents, but when I turn it, nothing happens.

Not even a click click click . Only silence.

And the sound of my final straw snapping in half.

I try again…and again…and again. All ending with the exact same result. Nothing.

I close my eyes and lean forward, resting my head on the steering wheel so that the heat of the leather burning my forehead can distract me from the searing, bone-deep despair and self-loathing I feel.

I’m so lost in my wallowing that I don’t even notice someone knocking on my window until the door is pulled open and Mister Bubbles is meowing in my ear.

“Let me guess.” The disappointment in Luke’s voice is as clear as the Rocky Mountains rising from the skyline. “You didn’t go get your oil changed, did you?”

“No.” I twist my head to the side, looking up at a hulking Luke. “No, I did not.”

“Come on then.” He pulls my door open wider and offers me his hand. “Isla and I can give you a ride home.”

I grab my tote bag from the floor and without thinking, put my hand in his.

It’s the smallest touch, practically meaningless, yet somehow, it steals my breath away and sets my body afire.

Every feeling, every sensation I’ve been trying to ignore, trying to pretend never happened, comes racing back, filling my body with longing. Making my limbs fall heavy with need.

And because the universe is my biggest hater, instead of being able to spiral in private, I get to sort through these feelings in the front seat of his car. If that wasn’t punishment enough, I get the added bonus of doing all this in front of his daughter and the judgy cat, Mister Bubbles.

The worst part of all? The only person I have to blame is myself.

Well, me and Elon Musk.

···

Thanks to Isla, the drive to my apartment on the north side might have been uncomfortable, but it was anything but silent.

I thought I knew everything that happened in my classroom, but it turns out, I knew nothing.

Isla spent the entire drive filling the car with the constant chatter only a five-year-old can accomplish, telling me the playground gossip and spilling all the kindergarten tea.

Let’s just say there might be a new seating chart come Monday.

Luke remains blissfully quiet, only chiming in when Isla directs a question to him. I have the distinct feeling he wants me out of the car almost as much as I do. As soon as he turns onto my street, his shoulders sag with what I can only assume is relief.

“Ummm, Daddy…” Isla trails off, and Luke’s back goes ramrod straight at the all too familiar tone in her voice.

He slows to a stop in front of my apartment and looks back at her through his rearview mirror.

“Yes, Isla?” he asks even though I think we both know exactly what’s coming next.

“I kinda need to go potty,” she says, confirming my suspicions.

“Didn’t I ask if you needed to go before we left?” He does a pretty good job at hiding the irritation in his voice. “We’re almost home, can you wait a little longer?”

“I didn’t need to go then, I have to go now,” she whines. “I can’t wait! I have to go really bad!”

“It’s okay,” I say before I even realize what I’m doing. The regret is swift, but there’s no going back now. I can feel the heat of Luke’s glare burning a hole in the side of my head as I keep talking. “You can come inside and use my bathroom.”

“It’s not too much longer until we’re home, Bear.” Luke tries to undo my blunder, but Isla is already unbuckled and pushing open the car door. “Miss Pierce is probably tired from work and doesn’t want company.”

“She already said yes, Daddy.” She hops out of the car and onto the sidewalk, leaning back inside the car to point at the carrier nestled behind the driver’s seat. “Don’t forget Mister Bubbles. We don’t want him to be scared in the car alone.”

She shuts the back door before immediately opening mine, pulling the tote bag off of my lap, and grabbing my hand.

“I love your house, Miss Pierce.” She struggles to get my bag over her shoulder. It’s almost as big as her, and I’m afraid she’s going to tip over, but ever the trooper, she perseveres. “It’s so big and colorful!”

“Thank you, but this whole house isn’t mine,” I warn her in hopes of avoiding future disappointment when she sees my minuscule unit. “You can’t tell from the outside, but there are five apartments in this building.”

I live in a small, one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment in what was a single-family home at some point in history.

The kitchen is the size of a postage stamp, and the bathroom has an embarrassing lack of outlets with no storage in sight.

But it also has exposed brick, a gorgeous community garden, and free laundry in the spacious—albeit creepy—basement.

I love all of my neighbors, and my landlord, Frederick, a kooky man who’s never met a fedora he didn’t love, is the kindest person roaming this earth.

He was an old friend of my dad who my mom introduced me to when I was looking for a place of my own after college.

He lets me paint the walls (and doors) and gave me a steal of a deal that he still honors despite the skyrocketing rent prices in Denver.

I love living here and I doubt I’ll ever leave.

“Daddy…” Isla stops walking in the middle of the pathway to the front door. Her eyebrows furrow together as she looks up and down my street. “Is this close to your new house?”

Luke’s gaze meets mine for just a second before avoiding eye contact as he grunts in affirmation.

Time stops. Oceans freeze. The earth opens up and swallows me whole, spitting me out into the depths of hell.

I mean, sure, Denver’s small, but it’s not this small! There’s no reason that this man, out of all men, should be living so close to me that even a five-year-old notices. I don’t know who I need to apologize to for the sins of my past life, but this is getting ridiculous.