“And what did you tell her my role is?”

“I told her you were kind of like a bank manager and referee. You make sure her trust is safe and that she has what she needs while I work on keeping her with me.”

I’m about to ask if that’s what Emme wants when she returns to the table, effectively shutting down the discussion.

We order our meals and milkshakes when the server comes around. She’s a woman in her early twenties, and she makes goo-goo eyes at Daxton whenever he speaks. I get it, he’s a hottie, but she needs to tone her simper down a notch. Or ten.

While we wait for the food to arrive I explain the parameters of the trust and my new role in Emme’s life.

“But I still get to stay with Dax, right?” She pokes at her milkshake with her straw.

“That’s right. Everything stays exactly the way it is for the time being, apart from me being involved in more than just your trust.”

“Okay.” She nods, as if this makes sense, but then chews on the inside of her lip.

“Do you have any other questions? I know it’s a lot of new things happening, so I’m here to help however I can.”

Emme looks to Daxton, as if seeking his approval before she speaks. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s wary of me, or of his reaction to whatever questions she has. At his nod she clears her throat. “So if you’re responsible for me, does that mean you have to move in with me and Dax?”

Daxton’s eyes go wide and his gaze darts to me. I’m not capable of speaking, though, since I’m coughing up the french fry I almost choked on.

“No, Em, it’s not like that. It’s still just you and me,” he replies.

“Oh. Okay. ’Cause, like, that might be a little weird, but at least you and Dax were, like, friends before, right? And Dax doesn’t have a girlfriend or anything, so it wouldn’t be that weird. Except if Kailyn had to stay in your old room.” Emme’s eyes light up and she leans in closer, as if she’s about to tell a secret. “His bedroom is full of stuff from his old TV show. Posters and everything.”

I glance at Daxton and then back at her. “Is that right?”

She nods. “Dax said we can clean it out and I can put all the stuff on eBay and decide what I want to do with the money.”

“Oh, really? Is there lots of cool stuff?”

Daxton’s face is an interesting shade of red. “It’s just memorabilia and crap.”

“But some of it might be worth money, so I’m going to see what I can get for it.”

What I wouldn’t give to help clean out that room. I find myself a little giddy over the thought. I’m a TV memorabilia junkie. I may have boycotted watching the show after law school, and boxed up all my old things, but they’re still in my bedroom closet.

A few minutes later Emme slumps back in her seat, rubbing her tummy. “You all right, kiddo?” Daxton eyes her plate. She’s barely touched her burger or fries, and only managed to drink about half of her shake.

“Just not really hungry anymore.” She fiddles with her napkin and peeks up at him. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a waste.”

“You want it packed up?”

She shrugs. “Can I go next door to the bookstore and look around while you guys eat and talk about stuff that you don’t want to say in front of me?”

Daxton gives her a look. “Em.”

“What? I’m not dumb and I’m not trying to be rude and, like, I’m kind of done hearing about Aunt Linda, so can I go?” She gives him sad puppy dog eyes, which I’m sure are at least 50 percent authentic.

“Fine.”

Emme slides out of the booth, grinning.

“Hold on.” Daxton pulls his wallet from his back pocket, flips it open, and retrieves a twenty.

“What’s this for?”

“You’re going to a bookstore. This is so you can buy a book.”

“Oh.” She smiles and pockets the money. “Okay, thanks.”

“And you only go to the bookstore. Nowhere else, okay?”

“Okay, Dax.”

“And no crossing the street.”

She makes a face. “What?”

“Stay on this side of the street.”

“I’m not a baby. I don’t need someone to hold my hand all the time. I know what the walking guy and the flashing red hand mean.” And there’s the teen snark I’ve been waiting for. I fight my own smile because I don’t want to encourage the sass, but I’m curious as to how Daxton handles it.

He glares at her until her eyes roll. “If I’m just going to the bookstore, I have no reason to cross the street anyway. Any other rules?”

“I think you’re good. You have your phone?”

She pulls it out of her pocket. “Satisfied?”

“Can the attitude.”

“If you stopped treating me like a baby, I wouldn’t need to pull out the attitude.”

Dax raises a brow. “I can take the twenty back.”

That changes her tune. “Sorry. Okay. No more attitude. I know you’re just trying to, like, show me you care, or whatever. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Go look at books and don’t cause a riot, or stage a political protest or anything that’s going to piss me off.”

“Oh my God. You’re the worst.” She rolls her eyes again, waves at me, does a little bouncy spin, and heads for the door.

Daxton watches her leave. “I’m pretty sure one of these days her eyes are going to roll up into her head and stay there.” He glances at her plate, frown still in place. “She hardly ate a thing.”

“She giving you a hard time?” I bite the end of a fry. The portions here are huge. I still have half a sandwich and half my fries, but Emme’s plate looks like she mostly pushed the food around.

“Not really. I mean, the spontaneous tears are to be expected. It’s just . . . she’s a teenager. She’s growing. When I was her age, I ate everything in sight.”

“Her appetite is off, then?”

He runs his hand through his hair. It falls right back into place, which I find annoying for some reason. “Half the time I just offer her junk food to get some calories in her body. She picks at almost everything.”

“Is that abnormal for her?”

He fiddles with his napkin. “I don’t really know. I mean, I used to have lunch with Emme and my parents every Sunday, but I never focused on her eating habits. It’s just not something I thought about. She’s already small, smaller than the other kids her age. She can’t afford to lose weight. I don’t want to stuff her full of sugar and chocolate because that’s not any better.” He blows out a breath. “Sorry. I’m unloading on you and that’s not what you’re here for.”

I give him a sympathetic smile. “You’re taking on a lot and going through a heavy personal loss. People grieve differently. When my mom passed I didn’t have much of an appetite for a while, but it came back eventually.”

His eyes soften and his hand slides across the table a few inches in my direction. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It was during my undergrad, so it was a long time ago.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

I swirl a french fry in my ketchup. Maybe Beverly has a valid point, maybe Daxton does feel comfortable with me for some reason—because of our law school connection, probably. It’s possible he doesn’t remember it the same way I do.

Regardless, right now it’s not about what happened five years ago, it’s about finding points of connection and this loss is something we share. It’s a way for him to relate and for me to gain his trust. “It was difficult, particularly for my dad. I think that was the hardest part, seeing him suffer without her. Kind of like you have to watch Emme go through this while you do, as well. It makes you feel helpless.” It’s taken me a long time to get over that, and in some ways it’s made relationships challenging. I’ve already suffered hard losses, and I know that pain. I’m not sure my heart is meant for much more breaking.

His eyes are on me, soft, maybe a little relieved, and full of painful sympathy. “That’s it exactly. I feel helpless and so . . . out of my depth. Is your dad okay now?”

I focus on the napkin in my lap. “In a way, yes. He’s with her now, if you believe in that kind of thing. So I’d like to think he’s happy and at peace. That they both are.”

This time when Daxton reaches across the table, his fingers slide over mine, eyes full of commiserating despair. “They’re gone? You lost them both, too?”

My first instinct is to retract my hand and hide it under the table, away from the man who seems to cause no end of conflict every time he drops into my life.

“Not at the same time, and not in such a . . .” Violent, horrific, haunting. “Difficult way.”

“But you’re alone. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”