Page 72 of Imperfect Arrangement

There’s a touch of surprise as her eyebrow rises, realizing I haven’t missed her middle name. I’ll have to ask her the real story behind it some other day.

“Good to know I’m not the only one going crazy these days,” she mutters, looking down for a second before grabbing her phone.

Her expression shifts and I know she’s about to change the subject. I welcome the distraction as Willow points to the screen.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something else. Can I get Quill a mini stereo for her room?”

I blink, surprised and curious. “A stereo?”

“Since she loves books, I thought maybe music could be another thing that moves her. I know she’s young, but your bug doesn’t always feel like a kid.”

A chuckle slips out of me. “I know exactly what you mean.” I run a hand over my face, thinking it through. It’s a great idea. Quill’s therapist has been encouraging me to introduce new things into her world, and this fits perfectly. “It’s fantastic. If you want, I can get the whole house wired with an audio system?—”

“No!” Willow’s hands shoot up like she’s stopping traffic. “I don’t want to overload her with technology.” Then, as if realizing how her reaction might come across, she tucks her hands behind her back, her voice softening. “Sorry. I know she’s your daughter?—”

This time, I don’t let her finish. I reach for her hands and gently pull them forward, not letting go. “Do it. I can already tell you that she’ll love it.”

Willow’s smile grows, lighting up her whole face. “I think so too.”

* * *

Notesof the latest pop song drift down the hallway. It’s not blasting, but it’s the loudest music my house has heard. Two days. That’s how long it’s been since Willow gave Quill the stereo. I’ve caught them huddled together, listening to music on and off, but today when I peek into Quill’s room, I freeze.

There she is, standing smack in the middle of her room with Captain Lick right beside her, wagging his tail like he’s the happiest creature on earth. Quill’s hips sway, completely offbeat to the music, her smile so big it could light up the whole town. In her hands, two colored pencils tap against the air as if she’s a mini drummer in an imaginary band. She’s so damn happy that it punches me square in the chest.

But then my daughter’s gaze locks on to mine. Her cheeks flush bright pink, and she ducks her head, suddenly shy. The magic moment screeches to a halt as I step farther inside.

“Why did you stop?” I ask gently.

She covers her face with her hands, peeking at me through her fingers. A beat passes before she moves her hands away long enough to sign, “I look stupid.”

My daughter calling herself stupid? Not happening. “You do not.” I kneel to her level. “You look happy. And when people are happy, they dance. That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Quill tilts her head, thinking it over like she’s weighing a serious argument. Then, with a curious look, she counters, “But you don’t.”

My lips twitch. “That’s not true. You’ve just never seen me dance.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, practically disappearing into her hairline. “Daddy, you can dance?”

“Well…” I stand, offering her my hand. “Let’s find out.”

I drape an arm over her shoulders, hold her tiny hand in mine, and move. All those childhood ballroom dance lessons suddenly feel worth it as I twirl Quill around the room. Her initial shock melts into pure joy, and she grins.

She’s all gasps when I let her spin, her little feet stumbling in that way only kids can make look cute. When I dip her dramatically, she grins so big I can see her molars. Her tongue sticks out when I pull her back up, but not before my chin grazes her cheek and her face lights up like Christmas morning.

She did say she likes my stubble, and I’d do anything to keep that joy on her face. The silly stuff. The little stuff.

We’re both grinning at each other when Quill’s gaze flicks to the doorway. Her smile somehow grows even bigger. I turn, following her line of sight, and there’s Willow, leaning against the doorframe. Her face says everything—surprise, pride, amusement.

“Wow, Quillbug. Who knew your dad had such killer moves?”

Willow’s teasing hits me, and for a split second, heat flashes across my face in embarrassment, but it fades quickly.

I tuck my tongue in my cheek, giving her my best smug grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” With an exaggerated bow, I throw in a curtsy for good measure, earning a laugh that lights up the room.

Quill bounces on her feet, pigtails bobbing. She signs with an excited flourish, “Your turn, Willow!”

Of course. My little bug makes sure Willow’s always in the mix—our mix. Honestly, I’ve started looking forward to these moments, when it’s no longer just me and Quill anymore, but the three of us.