Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“Shut up,” I said, circling her to catch up to the group.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Didn’t have to.”
“No, I certainly did not,” she agreed on a laugh.
I subtly flipped her off behind my back.
That only made her laugh harder.
• • •
An hour and a half later, Ava and Chloe looked like the remnants of a glitter bomb.
Ava was a golden yellow from head to toe, the dress she chose that of Belle. She was admiring the smattering of stars and glitter on her cheeks as the Fairy Godmother assigned to her placed a tiara on her head. My daughter gasped as the final piece slid into place, the crown sitting perfectly on top of the little bun they’d fastened at the top of her head with a yellow ribbon.
She looked up at me as if I’d hung the moon.
“Daddy, look!”
“I see,” I said, smirking a bit as I came up behind her. She turned back to the mirror and I placed my hands on her shoulders. “You look absolutely beautiful, Pumpkin.”
“Oh, no pumpkin unless she’s out past midnight,” the Fairy Godmother said, ever in character.
“Let’s get a picture of you,” Chef Patel said, helping Ava out of her chair.
“What about Chloe?!”
“She’ll be right out,” one of the other Fairy Godmothers assured her. “She’s almost dressed.”
Juan had pulled some big strings for this. The boutique was normally booked out weeks, if not months, in advance. But he’d somehow convinced a few of the employees to stay late and make room for us. I tried to tip them — not just once, but several times — but they declined every single one of them.
They seemed genuinely happy to help us, though; the Fairy Godmothers smiling as they watched Chef Patel snap photo after photo of Ava, who was striking poses and giggling at Chef’s commentary as she did.
Not only had they made an exception for us timing wise, but they’d also let me book a service for Chloe. The boutique was meant for little girls — not adults — which meant there were no adult-sized chairs or costumes. But like their reputation suggested, the employees made magic happen. They dolled Chloe up just the same as Ava, and then came in last minute with a surprise princess gown covered in a white garment bag.
At least they let me pay for the dress.
As we waited for her reveal, I watched Ava, heart heavy and slow as I wondered what had happened to her over the last few months.
She had completely transformed.
Just a year ago, she was barely speaking. Months ago, she was barely smiling, never laughing.
Now… she was a kid.
She was happy and smiley and carefree. She didn’t wear the weight I unintentionally put on her. She didn’t emulate me the way she had for so long.
No, it seemed she favored Chloe’s energy now.
That struck me like a bat to the head. Chloe had swung into our lives so unexpectedly, and she’d done so with a mission. She hadn’t just taken on the job as Ava’s nanny with pity or with the mindset that she could make a buck. She didn’t want anything from me — not fame or a quick ticket to money or a relationship past the professional one we had.
She didn’t want anything at all other than to make Ava happy, and me by proxy.
That was a kindness so pure and selfless that I couldn’t quite understand it.
But I was thankful. I was grateful for her time and her energy, for the way she knew how to get my daughter out of her shell better than I ever could. I would never be able to truly pay her enough for how she’d knocked sense into me, too — how she’d brought to light the ways I could introduce Ava to her mom without wanting to hurl myself off a cliff in the process.
Chloe was healing us, just by existing.
That thought was dancing in my mind when Ava and Chef Patel stopped their dance party on a gasp, Ava’s hands flying to cover her mouth as they stared at something behind me.
When I turned, I understood why.
Chloe appeared to glide out of the dressing room, the mirrors all around the boutique reflecting her in a kaleidoscope of beauty. Her russet hair hung in loose, wavy curls around her chin, one side of it pinned up with a light pink seashell. Her makeup was a little less glitzy than my daughter’s — a more refined look, as if she really were a princess joining us for dinner.
I had no idea where they’d conjured the dress they found for her, but it fit as if it had been tailored with her in mind. The skirt that hung to the floor was a shiny, pearl pink. A darker shade, similar to the color her cheeks turned when she blushed, hung over her shoulders and cinched her waist before slowing out in two puffs from her hips.