“Where is your mom?” I ask.
“In her room, putting her shoes on. She’ll be out soon.”
I follow her into the living room, which looks like the scene of a crime. “What happened here?”
Isla giggles. “Mom and I made a fort in the living room with our old scarves and blankets.”
“Might need some architecture lessons,” I drawl under my breath.
Isla doesn’t hear me. “This is my old baby blanket,” she announces, picking up a faded green blanket from the sofa. “I carried it around ‘til I was six.”
I turn around to find Kinsley standing at the threshold between the living room and the front door—and my f*****g breath catches hard in my chest.
She’s wearing the dress I forcibly bought for her on our little shopping trip. It’s the first time I’m seeing it on her, though. The garment is an off-the
