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I’d like to get more information, find out if he’s raising on-site security, ask him why I need a tracker, but for now, he’s got a team working, and I have a daughter who needs me.

“Let’s talk later,” I say and don’t miss the flash of something in Sophia’s eyes. What was that? Surprise?

I push up from my chair and pointedly leave my phone on the desk.

My hand falls to her back, and I lead her out of my home office.

She’s wearing multicolored pajama pants that skim the floor and a giant Gap t-shirt she bought at a secondhand store last summer.

Apparently, secondhand stores are all the rage.

Her blonde curls are pulled up into a band on the top of her head, and I want to pick her up and throw her in the air like I used to do, but she’s no longer that little girl, so I stymie that desire.

“How does an omelet bar sound to you?” she asks.

“Delicious.”

We round the corner, and my feet halt. Ava stands behind the kitchen counter with a big ceramic bowl pressed against her hip.

She’s wearing a formfitting tank that molds to her curves.

Tattoos line her arms. The silver bracelets are mostly gone.

Her arms flex from holding the bowl and spinning the whisk in the eggs.

Her eyes meet mine, and a dash of color rises in her cheeks. Waves and half curls claim her bangs and thick mane, giving her a just-out-of-bed look. Her fresh, makeup free face lends an innocence I suspect doesn’t exist. I hope it doesn't exist, or I’m complete dirt.

I stare. I should look away, but I don’t. She’s living in the house, and I asked her not to leave, so of course she’s here. But it feels different. And I know why. Without all that dark eye makeup, the thick eyeliner and dark shadow, she stuns. My lungs contract.

“Dad?” Sophia’s hand touches my wrist. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” I reach out and tug on her earlobe. She swats my hand away and shoots me a look that says, Stop it, Dad .

“You spaced out.” Sophia leaves me standing at the kitchen entrance. “Check the bowls and see if there’s anything else you want in your omelet. I put out everything I could think of.”

“No, this looks great.”

“We were thinking after breakfast we would go paddleboarding, but there’s so many people out there already. So, what do you think about playing a game?”

“A game. Like what? Sequence?”

“Yeah. The three of us.”

I glance at Ava, and she offers a slight smile.

“Sure,” I mumble.

“Oh, and Dad, I wanted to ask…” Sophia looks to Ava, and Ava offers a supportive smile. An uneasiness stirs in my gut. “Would you mind if I changed some things in my bedroom?”

Relief fills every pore. I don’t know what I expected my teenage daughter to ask, but this is easy.

“Not at all. You know, I have that designer. Cheri… no, Evie.” I snap my fingers. “Evie is her name.”

“She’s the one who did my room, right?”

“Yep.” I pop a sliver of red bell pepper into my mouth. I thought Sophia loved her bedroom. “If you want someone else, feel free. Show her what you want, and she can make it happen. You can direct the show.”

I pointedly look at my daughter’s sea-blue eyes, eyes that make me think of Cassandra pretty much every time I look into them. I’ve got brown eyes, but apparently a recessive blue gene too, and somehow she lucked out with her mother’s gorgeous blues.

She bounces up and down on her heels and claps her hands, looking happier than I’ve seen her look since everything happened.

“You can redesign anything you want to in this house.”

“Really?” Sophia is looking between me and Ava, a genuine smile lighting her lips.

“Of course.” For her smile, she can do anything she wants. As long as she stays safe. “What would you change?”

“Well, the weird marble statues for one. This entire house feels like an old lady’s house with all the gold and scrolls.” My eyes meet Ava’s. Does she agree?

“Whatever you want.” It’s not like I picked any of it out.

I moved in with it furnished. Cassandra and I had divorced, and I needed a place for my daughter to spend time with me here in San Diego.

After Cassandra died, I should have made it more of a home, but she died so unexpectedly.

My grief had been nearly debilitating. It was all I could do to step up and adapt to being a single father overnight.

“Why don’t you treat this like a design project?” Ava asks as she sets out three omelet pans and pours the whisked eggs into them. “You know, go around and think about what you’d like to change. Create a presentation board for your dad. It could be a fun project.”

Sophia’s cheeks glow. She looks more alive this morning, and I have to admit, Ava’s suggestion is solid.

It’ll give Sophia something to focus on.

A way to fill her time and build her confidence.

It bothers me to no end that she won’t spend time with friends.

I miss my carefree, happy kid. But maybe this little project is a step forward.

“I’ll go get her contact information for you.”

Back in my office, I pick up my phone. I can’t remember the woman’s last name, so I text Janet and ask her to send me the designer’s contact information.

There’s a light rap on the doorframe. Ava stands in the doorway.

“I told Sophia I’d make sure you didn’t get stuck in here. But, um, real quick…” Her gaze falls to the floor.

“You accept my offer.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. “You were serious?”

“I’m not a particularly jocular man.”

“Right.” She peers down the hall. She stretches her fingers out, then balls them up, then stretches them out. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Of course she will.

“But I need to return to Nueva Vida this afternoon.” She shifts from one bare foot to another and understanding dawns.

“Is it smart to give a recently rehabilitated man a load of cash?”

Those long eyelashes flutter. Her lips purse. She swallows. “I wouldn’t.” She shakes her head back and forth in quick jerks. “I’m going to pay the person he owes.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale. She’s out of her mind. “Tell me how much he owes, and we’ll send Fisher.”

“I need to go.”

“No. You don’t.” I cross my arms, wondering what her logic could possibly be.

“I need to see Reid. He’ll tell me where to find him.”

“Dad? Ava?” Sophia’s voice is distant. She’s still in the kitchen. But time is short.

“Fisher will know where to make payment.”

“I just…” Her eyes plead.

Annoyance simmers, but it’s not my place to be annoyed. I assume she wants to tell Reid she’s saved him.

“Fine. Go with Fisher.” We can’t have her getting murdered this afternoon. The last thing I want is to have to tell Sophia someone else in her life died unexpectedly. “Let’s get back to the kitchen.”

“I’ll be back after dinner.” She whispers the words in the hallway.

I give the briefest of nods, and understanding for her meaning sinks in. Anticipation for tonight swells.

I smile at Sophia when we re-enter the kitchen and get out the blender to prepare a protein shake. Omelets are fine, but I’m going to need the extra protein.

“Ava’s going back to her clinic this afternoon, so it’ll just be the two of us. Sound good?”

“A game. Just the two of us?” She frowns.

“Paddleboarding is still on the table. Or we could take the Jet Skis instead?”

Sophia debates options with me, and Ava listens. When she’s done with her plate, she quietly clears it and leaves. She’s almost out of the kitchen when I remind her. “Don’t forget Fisher.”