The sound of giggles echoed through the house, a melody Rafe Cameron never knew he’d grow to love so much. He peeked around the corner into the living room, where his three-year-old daughter, Charlotte—Lottie, as he called her—was holding court. She was perched in the middle of her plastic tea set, wearing a mismatched tutu and a glittering plastic tiara that sat crooked on her wild blonde curls.

“Daddy!” Lottie squealed, catching sight of him. She jumped up, clutching a tiny teacup in one hand, and ran to him. “You’re late to the tea party!”

Rafe crouched down, scooping her up and spinning her around, her laughter filling the room. “I’m late? Oh no! The queen’s going to be so mad at me!” he exclaimed, mock horror on his face.

Lottie pulled back to look at him, her blue eyes—so much like his own—wide with seriousness. “The queen forgives you,” she said solemnly, before grinning and adding, “But you have to wear a crown!”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Rafe said, bowing slightly as he set her down. She toddled over to the couch and retrieved a second plastic tiara, this one a bit more battered but still sparkling.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, allowing Lottie to place the tiara on his head. “How do I look?” he asked, giving her a goofy grin.

“Beautiful!” Lottie declared, clapping her hands.

“Beautiful, huh? I’ll take it,” he chuckled, adjusting the tiara as he settled into his spot at the tea set.

As Lottie poured imaginary tea into his cup, Rafe glanced around the room. It was a mess—tiny shoes in one corner, stuffed animals scattered everywhere, crayons and coloring books abandoned on the coffee table. It was nothing like the pristine, orderly house he grew up in, but it was perfect.