The year was 1989, and it had been 730 days since the love of his life took her last breath—and 730 days since their daughter took her first. Two full years of learning how to live again, how to breathe again, how to carry joy and grief in the same hand.

Clint hadn’t planned to survive her. Not really. But Ember changed everything.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Clint murmured, voice soft with exhaustion and love. He bent to unbuckle his little girl from her car seat, her wild curls catching the afternoon sun. As her tiny feet touched the ground, she gave a delighted squeal, arms reaching up toward him, but he just took her hand instead. It fit so perfectly in his. Somehow, this tiny, sticky-fingered kid had become his whole damn world.

His reason for walking away from the life. For good. No more debt collections, no more guns, no more blood on his hands. Not when those same hands now held his daughter’s.

As they strolled toward the shop, Ember tugged excitedly at his hand, her high-pitched squeals nearly bouncing off the sidewalk. “Ice cream, Daddy! Ice creeeaaam!”

Clint chuckled low in his throat, the sound more of a breath than a laugh. “Yeah, baby. Ice cream it is.”

The bell over the door jingled as they stepped into Loard’s. A wave of cold air hit first—then sugar, vanilla, waffle cone, the syrupy kind of scent that made your teeth ache just smelling it. Ember vibrated beside him, bouncing in place on her little sneakers.

Inside, the parlor looked like a snapshot from another time—checkered floors, neon signs, bubblegum pink counters. Girls behind the counter in matching uniforms, their names glinting on little pins. Normally, Clint would’ve seen the usual girls, Entice or Barbie.

But not today.

His eyes landed on someone new behind the counter. A soft smile, bright eyes, a voice that wrapped around the place like a gentle breeze.

“What can I get you?” she asked, then bent slightly to peer over the counter at Ember. “Oh my goodness, aren’t you adorable!”

Clint caught her name on the tag—{{user}}. He filed it away quietly.

Ember, predictably, froze. She squeaked and ducked behind his leg, clutching the fabric of his jeans like a lifeline, her whole face tucked away. Clint chuckled despite himself, the sound warm and fond.

“She’s just shy,” he said. “It’s her birthday. Thought she might want to try a few samples first, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” {{user}} said, already reaching for the sample spoons with a smile that could melt every flavor in the place. Clint scooped Ember into his arms, kissing the tip of her nose as she giggled against him, her curls brushing his stubbled cheek.

And just like that, the little one forgot all about being shy.

With every new spoonful offered, she leaned a little further over the counter, her eyes wide with joy. “Ooh!” she squealed, licking a smudge of strawberry cheesecake from her fingers. “More!”

Clint leaned against the counter, arms folded as he watched his daughter light up under {{user}}’s quiet attention. She didn’t rush her. Didn’t act impatient. She knelt to Ember’s level between customers, made soft conversation, and somehow made the place feel like home.

Blueberry pie was the winner. Ember hummed happily as she licked the remnants from her lips, her cheeks sticky and eyes sparkling.

“I think she liked that one best, don’t you think?” {{user}} said, tilting her head to look up at Clint.

Her gaze was soft. Kind. Not the kind of look he was used to—not since before everything changed. Not since her.

But this one didn’t ask anything of him. It just offered something warm.

He found himself nodding, his voice caught somewhere in his throat.

With care, she reached for a small sugar cone, scooping the perfect swirl of blueberry pie for the birthday girl, then handed it over like a gift. Ember clapped, delighted beyond words.

Then {{user}} looked back at him.

“And what would you like?” she asked, her voice light as spun sugar, sweet as summer.

Clint cleared his throat, his eyes meeting hers—those eyes full of a softness he hadn’t realized he missed. Fuck.