Lynne stared at the two of them—Luna and Victor, side by side—the words stuck in her throat.
A long moment later she recovered, the corner of her mouth curling. She cleared her throat and looked at Luna:
“Well, since you’re home, I’ll head back to my place. Charlotte’s asleep.”
With that she slipped into the elevator in a hurry—then shooed the two of them back out with her hand.
Luna and Victor stepped out; the doors closed the very next second. She hadn’t managed a single word.
In the silence she heard a low laugh by her ear. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
Victor looked straight at her and shook his head. Luna pressed her lips together, looked away, and walked to her front door.
Inside, Victor took in the room—the white curtains on the windowsill, the pink flowers on the table. Everything quietly screamed domesticity.
His gaze settled on a half-finished building-block set on the side cabinet, and something shifted in his mind. His fingers twitched.
“No spare bedroom. You’re on the couch tonight.”
Luna’s voice cut in from the kitchen.
Victor sat down on the sofa and arched a brow. “Fine.”
Luna was at the fridge; she glanced over at that, pulled out a bottle of ice water, and carried it to the living room.
She handed him the water, then turned and disappeared into the bedroom.
The night deepened. The couch was soft, but Victor couldn’t sleep at all—one arm behind his head, eyes on the ceiling, his mind drifting back to the days when he and Luna were together.
Now that she’d walked back into his world, he was going to bring her back to his side. Whatever it took.
Except…
He turned his head toward the bedroom door—where sounds were suddenly coming from.
The door pushed open from the inside, with a bit of a struggle, like small hands had fought it wide.
The instant it opened, a tiny figure popped out.
Charlotte stood at the doorframe, rubbing her sleepy eyes, soft and adorable.
She put her hands down, blinked—and met Victor’s eyes exactly.
“Hm?” Charlotte stared at him, puzzled.
The big one and the small one locked eyes across the room. Victor sat up at once.
He’d just started toward her when his whole body stopped short, suddenly at a loss.
“Uncle…” the little girl said.
Then came the pattering of little feet as she ran over and stopped in front of him, tilting her head up, delight spreading across her face.
“Are you an uncle, or are you my daddy?”
“Why are you in me and Mommy’s house?”
The little one was clearly bursting with curiosity, her small mouth running through the questions.
Victor’s body went stiff. He looked down at her—and after two seconds crouched down to her eye level.
“May I ask what your… name is?” His voice had gone soft.
His hand rose to pat her head—and froze mid-air. Charlotte tilted her head, eyed the hand, and then her eyes curved slyly as she nuzzled her head right into his palm.
“Uncle… Daddy, did you want to pat my little head?”
“You can pat it!”
She rubbed against his palm like a kitten, shamelessly cute.
Victor’s mouth bent. Something in his chest went soft and stayed there.
When she smiled, her eyes curved exactly like her mother’s.
“That’s right—I’m Charlotte! Mommy picked the name.” She remembered herself and answered properly.
Victor lowered the hand that had been ruffling her hair, his whole face easing into a smile. “Charlotte. A beautiful name.”
“Shh!”
Suddenly she pressed a finger to his lips, pouting and whispering:
“Quiet. Mommy’s still sleeping. We can’t wake her up.”
She even glanced back toward the bedroom door.
Then she turned around again and murmured, “Uncle, could you pour me some water? I’m thirsty.”
Such a polite little request. Victor nodded—and then held out his arms. “May I carry you?”
Charlotte nodded hard and stepped right into his chest.
For the next minute, Victor carried her one-armed through the living room, lit by a single warm floor lamp, heading for the kitchen.
When they came back, Charlotte cradled her cup of water, and the big one and the small one sat on the sofa, the warm light falling across two faces that were nearly identical.
The little one drank most of her water, then turned and blinked up at him. “Uncle, I’m done.”
Victor smiled, took the cup, and set it on the coffee table.
When he turned back, his expression was half serious, half coaxing. He said, patiently:
“Charlotte—if you ever see an uncle you don’t know at home, you call for Mommy right away. Understand?”
He ruffled her hair as he said it.
“But I know you, Uncle!” Charlotte tilted her head and shot back, absolutely certain.
Victor froze. Something flickered in his eyes, and his voice came out unsteady. “You… know me?”
“Uh-huh. You’re in Mommy’s phone.” The little one answered, baby-voiced.
Victor’s brows shot up; his pupils dilated. A thousand thoughts crossed his mind at once.
After a moment he swallowed, and a smile broke over his face—the joy of something lost, found again.
“Uncle, my Mommy says Daddy’s up in the sky flying. You fly big planes too, right? Have you seen my daddy?”
“Did Daddy not want me anymore…” Charlotte murmured, pitiful, tears trembling at the corners of her eyes.
Victor’s heart seized. He gathered her into his arms and soothed her softly:
“Little sweetheart—Dad… your daddy didn’t leave you. He misses you too.”
His embrace was too warm, too safe. At the sound of his gentle voice her lip wobbled, and she began to sob quietly.
Victor panicked, patting her back, kissing her forehead. “Don’t cry.”
Who knows how long it took before Charlotte squirmed out of his arms, climbed down off the sofa hand over hand, rubbed her eyes with her little chubby hands, and mumbled:
“Uncle, I’m sleepy. I’m going back to sleep next to Mommy.”
She yawned, eyes gone misty.
Victor rose and walked her to the bedroom door, stopping just outside it. He crouched again and whispered:
“Go in slowly. Don’t wake your mommy. Sleep tight.”
He smoothed her hair, gentle.
Charlotte nodded—then just before going in, turned around and tiptoed up to his ear, whispering:
“Uncle—when I wake up tomorrow, will you be gone?”
Her small hand was still clutching his sleeve.
Victor paused for an instant, then said softly, “No. Uncle’s not going anywhere.”
At that, Charlotte went into the bedroom reassured, and Victor slowly pulled the door shut.
Back on the sofa, his eyes drifted to the shelf at the side—to the unfinished airplane model.
He blinked, got up, walked over, sat down cross-legged on the floor, and began snapping the pieces together, one by one.
…
The wine knocked Luna out until morning. The little one was still asleep beside her; she eased herself out of bed.
As her head cleared, she suddenly remembered—she’d brought Victor home last night. She planted one hand on her hip and smacked her own forehead.
…While the little one was still asleep, she had to get Victor out. Fast. And make sure they didn’t cross paths.
Scowling in thought, she left the bedroom, poked her head out the door and scanned the living room—no sign of him. She opened the door wider, padded over to the sofa. Empty.
“Did he already leave?” she murmured.
“Mommy…”
Charlotte’s groggy baby voice came from behind her. Luna whipped around.
“Awake, sweetheart?”
She walked over—and just as she leaned down to pick her up, Charlotte’s eyes fixed on a corner of the living room. She pointed, grinning from ear to ear, bouncing with excitement: “Mommy, look!”
She’d already darted to the shelf, jumping up and down in front of the completed model plane.
“The airplane’s finished!”
“Now we can fly it to see Daddy!”
Out of the mouths of babes—the little one was beside herself.
Luna walked over and stared at the model plane, half the size of an adult, assembled piece by piece. She stood there, stunned.
Then she glanced back at the sofa.
…He did that?
She murmured it inwardly, looked at Charlotte laughing her little heart out beside her—and the corner of her mouth lifted.
——