Page 45 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Sora’s smile falters slightly at my words, and I realize how they might have sounded—like I’m already planning our exit, already thinking of this as temporary.

Which it is, I remind myself. This arrangement is a stopgap, a solution to an immediate problem, not a forever kind of deal.

So why does the thought of goodbye already have me feeling so hollow?

Sora kneels beside the bed, looking at Dakota with earnest curiosity. “I’m surprised you like this room so much. Your mom and Henry have a beautiful home, don’t they?”

Dakota nods. “It’s pretty.” Her knobby little shoulders rise and then slump.

“But everything is white. White walls, white couches, white rugs. Mommy says my toys have to match the house, so I have white stuffed animals and silver blocks.” She looks around the purple room with renewed fascination.

“I don’t have colorful things like this there. ”

Something sharp twists in my chest. I knew Hannah was particular about her home’s appearance, but I hadn’t realized she’d extended those restrictions to Dakota’s toys and personal space.

“That must be hard,” Sora says softly, not a hint of judgment in her voice, though I can see the concern in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Dakota agrees. “And I’m not allowed to play in the living room because I might mess it up. But I like this better.” She bounces on her knees on the bed, beaming. “It’s pretty and fun!”

I turn away, needing a moment to compose myself. The image of my daughter playing quietly with white toys in a white room, careful not to disturb the perfect staging of Hannah’s showcase apartment, makes me want to punch a wall. But that won’t help anyone, least of all Dakota.

“Why don’t you help Dakota get settled?” Sora suggests, noticing my demeanor. “I’ll make some lunch. Are sandwiches okay?”

“Sandwiches sound great,” I say, grateful for the change of subject. “What kind were you thinking?”

“I was going to make peanut butter and jelly, but…” She makes a face, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’m not exactly a gourmet chef. Grilled cheese is pretty much the peak of my culinary skills.”

“Grilled cheese!” Dakota exclaims happily. “With the cheese all melty and gooey?”

Sora laughs. “That’s the plan. With tomato soup…from a can?”

“Perfect,” I say. “We’ll be down soon to get the rest of the things from the car.”

Sora nods and heads downstairs, leaving me alone with Dakota, who is now carefully arranging Mr. Flops on his new throne—the center of the purple comforter.

“I like her, Daddy,” Dakota announces, smoothing the bunny’s ears. “She made my room pretty.”

“She’s very nice,” I agree, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Like a lasso, the question wraps me up and drags me back to reality. “No, Koda. She’s just a friend who’s letting us stay with her.”

Dakota fixes me with a look that’s eerily reminiscent of Hannah at her most skeptical. “But you like her.”

It’s not a question. My four-year-old is stating a fact that I’ve been trying to dance around for weeks.

“I do like her,” I admit. “She’s a good friend.”

Dakota seems satisfied with this answer, turning her attention back to arranging her stuffed animals on the bed.

I watch her for a moment, marveling at how resilient kids can be.

Just two weeks ago, her mother was planning to ship her off to boarding school across the country.

Now she’s settling into a new home with barely a hiccup.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Koda?”

“If you marry Sora, will she be my new mommy?”

“No one’s getting married,” I say firmly. “And you already have a mommy who loves you very much. Remember what we talked about? Mommy’s on a trip, but she’ll be back.”

Dakota nods, but she doesn’t look entirely convinced. “I know. But Mommy doesn’t make pretty rooms like Sora.”

I have to bite back a laugh at that. Hannah’s aesthetic runs more toward minimalist luxury—lots of white furniture and abstract art that costs more than most people’s cars. Not exactly a little girl’s dream.

“Everyone’s good at different things,” I tell her. “Mommy’s good at…other stuff.”

Nothing comes to mind at the moment. No. I shut that thought down hard. I promised myself I wouldn’t badmouth Hannah to Dakota, no matter how much it feels warranted in the moment.

“Come on,” I say, standing up and holding out my hand. “Let’s go help Sora with lunch, then we can bring in the rest of your things.”

Dakota hops off the bed, taking my hand. “Okay. Can I show Sora my princess dresses? Do you think she’ll like them?”

“I’m sure she will,” I say, guiding her toward the door.

“And my puzzles? And my tiara? And my?—”

“One thing at a time, Koda.” I lead her down the stairs. “Try not to bother Sora too much, okay? If you need something like a snack or water, come find me. Sora isn’t at your beck and call.”

“What’s a beckett-call?” she asks, dead serious.

“Never mind, sweetheart. Just ask me first whenever you need anything.”

We find Sora in the kitchen, slicing cheese for the sandwiches.

The domesticity of the scene hits me square in the chest—Sora at the counter, preparing lunch for my daughter, the three of us about to sit down for a meal together like…

like a family. The one I never got. But damn, this version looks even better.

I try to shove the thought down. But it lingers, a warm ember refusing to be extinguished.

“Can I help?” Dakota asks, already dragging a chair toward the counter.

Sora looks over, surprised but pleased. “Sure. Want to butter the bread for me?”

“I’m very good at buttering,” Dakota loftily informs her. “Daddy lets me do it all the time.”

This is news to me, but I keep my mouth shut, watching as Dakota clambers onto the chair and accepts the butter knife Sora hands her with all the gravity of a knight receiving a sword.

“Careful,” I warn, moving closer. “Need me to help?”

“I got it, Daddy,” Dakota says with the exasperated tone of someone who has been doing this for decades, not seconds.

Sora catches my eye over Dakota’s head, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. I shrug, silently communicating my surrender.

As Dakota dutifully—and somewhat haphazardly—butters the bread, Sora turns to me. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot if you want some. Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the sink.”

“Thanks.” I move toward the coffee maker, all too aware of the brush of her arm against mine as I pass. The kitchen suddenly feels much smaller than it is.

We work in companionable silence for a few minutes—Sora supervising Dakota’s buttering efforts, me pouring coffee and then setting the table, all of us moving around each other in a dance that feels surprisingly natural for people who aren’t used to sharing space.

“So,” Sora says eventually, “I was thinking we could have a housewarming dinner tonight. Nothing fancy, just the three of us. We could order in? My treat.”

“I like pasta!” Dakota votes enthusiastically, nearly dropping the butter knife in her excitement.

“Pasta it is,” Sora says, smiling at her. “Forrest?”

“Sounds great,” I agree. “But you know our deal. My treat .”

The sandwiches are ready a few minutes later, perfectly golden and oozing cheese. Dakota takes her first bite and declares it “the bestest grilled cheese ever,” which earns Sora a beaming smile.

Watching them together, something shifts inside me—a settling, like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, this sense that something important is happening here, something I didn’t plan for but desperately want.

After lunch, we bring in the rest of our things from the car. It doesn’t take long—most of my possessions are still at the apartment, waiting to be moved over the weekend. Today was just the essentials: clothes, Dakota’s favorite toys, and a few personal items.

Dakota insists on giving Mr. Flops a tour of every room in the brownstone, with Sora as their patient guide.

I hang back, ostensibly unpacking but really just watching the two of them together—my daughter’s hand tucked trustingly in Sora’s, Sora pointing out features of each room with the same enthusiasm she might use for a real museum tour.

“And my room is all the way at the top,” Sora explains as they reach the third floor. “On the highest floor.”

Dakota gasps. “Like where the dragon keeps the princess? Can we see?” Dakota asks eagerly.

“Maybe another time,” Sora says. “It’s a bit messy right now. I wasn’t expecting royal visitors.”

Dakota giggles at that, delighted to be treated like royalty. It’s perfect. Too perfect.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text from Rina.

Rina

I have a job for tomorrow night. Available?

Me

Where? I have Dakota full-time starting today. Can’t travel.

Rina

It’s in Jersey. You’d just need a sitter for the night. From the sound of it, it’ll be quick. She’s only after one thing.

Reality comes crashing back. All I feel is guilt. How can I agree to sleep with another woman with Sora this close?

Me

I’ll pass.

Rina

Hawkins, you’ve turned down the last three gigs. What gives? Did the money tree you planted finally sprout?

Me

I wish.

Rina

Then get back to work. I know you’re going through a lot. If you need a good nanny, I can make some calls. But if you keep turning down jobs, I’m going to stop offering.

Me

Fine. I hear you. I’ll book the next one, promise.

I put the phone away, my good mood dampened. When I look up, Sora is standing in the doorway, watching me.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Just a work thing.”

She nods, not pressing for details, which only makes me feel worse about keeping secrets.

I know she understands what I do for a living—she’s hired me herself, after all—but we haven’t discussed how this will work now that we’re living together.

With Dakota around, the conversation becomes even more complicated.

As if on cue, Dakota bounds up behind Sora, already in the princess dress she insisted on changing into after lunch.