Colter had done a lot of shit for Sutton Rose he hadn’t seen coming.

He’d cried in a barn.

He’d let an old rescue dog take over his bed.

He’d worn a bow tie to Sunday dinner because Rea had asked him to, and everybody in the Callahan family knew that when Rea asked, the only acceptable answer was What time?

But he had never done school pickup. Until today.

“This is insane,” he said.

Sutton laughed beside him, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket. “It’s a pickup line.”

“There are forty cars.”

“There are four hundred kids.”

A few cars up, some guy was stretched out beside his minivan, sunglasses on, ball cap low, one ankle crossed over his knee. He looked comfortable. Way too comfortable for a man waiting on a school bell.

“There’s a guy in a lawn chair.”

She followed his gaze. “That’s Jake, he’s a professional.”

“He brought snacks.”

“He’s probably been here since one.”

Colter checked his watch. “It’s two fifteen.”

“Exactly.”

He shook his head and looked back toward the school. They’d parked and walked up because Sutton claimed it was faster. Colter suspected that was bullshit. She’d wanted him standing beside her when Lynlee came out.

He knew it. She knew he knew it. Neither of them had said a word about it.

That was becoming a thing with Sutton. She had this irritating habit of understanding him without making him explain himself. A man could get used to that if he wasn’t careful.

Sutton bumped her shoulder into his. “Nervous?”

“No.”

“You’re rocking on your heels.”

“I’m standing.” He looked down and, well shit, he was rocking back and forth.

“You don’t stand like that.”

He turned his head slowly. “You keeping notes on how I stand now, Freckles?”

Her mouth curved. “I keep notes on everything you do.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Probably,” she said and her mouth parted into a smile and—bam—it hit him like a sledge hammer to the chest. That smile always made him forget whatever smart-ass thing he’d been about to say.

The bell rang before he could come up with anything decent. Then the school doors swung open and holy hell. Kids came pouring out like somebody had pulled a fire alarm. Backpacks swinging, lunch boxes bouncing, kids with jackets tied around their necks like make-shift capes.

“How do you find yours in this?” he asked.

Sutton smiled. “Trust me. Lynlee will find—”

“Colter!” he heard her right before he saw her and his chest lit up.

She was wearing her too-big backpack that dwarfed her. Her ponytail half out and she ran directly at him like there weren’t a hundred people between them.

He barely had time to brace before she hit him around the waist. His hands came down on her shoulders automatically. “Hey, Princess.”

“We had a substitute today and she didn’t knows that free reading is seven minutes, not five, and Mason said the S-word at lunch but I didn’t say it `cuz Mom says just because you know a bad word doesn’t mean you have to use it. Plus, I didn’t want to have to give up the dollar Jo gave me this morning. She said a word worse than the S-word.”

Colter looked over Lynlee’s head at Sutton.

She shrugged. “Solid parenting.”

“I know lots of bad words,” Lynlee informed him.

“I bet you do.”

“Jo Eli taught me two but I alreadys knew ones of them.”

“Even better,” he mumbled.

“Lynlee!” A little boy tore past them, followed by a woman carrying a toddler on one hip and three backpacks over the other shoulder.

“Mason, slow down!”

Mason did not slow down. The woman finally reached them, slightly out of breath, and shifted the toddler higher on her hip.

“Sorry. Hi.” She smiled at Colter and stuck out her hand. “You must be Lynlee’s dad. I’m Priya. Mason’s mom.”

Colter stared at her and for one second, his brain just stopped. Beside him, Sutton went perfectly still.

Well, hell, they’d talked about the baby. Talked about getting married. About moving things around at the house so Lynlee had more room. Even about whether Walter needed another orthopedic bed because apparently one eighty-pound dog required more furniture than Colter did.

They had not talked about this.

Clearly, they should have.

“He is,” Lynlee said then looked up. “Right?”

Colter looked down but she was already digging through her backpack like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of the school parking lot.

Sutton cleared her throat. “Actually—”

“I told Mason already,” Lynlee said, finally producing a piece of paper. “Look, Mom. I drew Walter, but Mrs. Simpson said dogs only have four legs, so I had to erase two.”

Priya smiled. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. Mason talks about Lynlee constantly. We should do a playdate sometime.”

“Absolutely,” Sutton managed.

“Great. Text me.”

Then Priya was gone, chasing after Mason, who had decided a tree needed climbing.

Colter watched her go. Then he looked at Sutton who looked back. Neither of them said anything. Which was saying something, because Sutton always had something to say.

Lynlee held up her drawing. “This is Walter.”

Colter looked down at six-legged Walter.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Give me a second on Walter.”

Her little eyebrows pulled together and he crouched in front of her. “Princess.”

“Yeah?”

“You just told Mason’s mom I’m your dad.”

“I know.” She said it with enough patience to suggest he might be the one struggling with the conversation.

Sutton crouched beside him. “Pumpkin, you know Colter really is your dad, right?”

Lynlee gave her a look. “I know.”

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure.”

“He’s the dad I came from.” She looked at Colter. “And now he’s the dad I get to keep.”

Well, hell. Colter had spent the past two months getting used to the first part. The second one got him right in the chest.

“That how it works?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“Good to know.”

Lynlee shoved her drawing into his hands. “Can we get ice cream now?”

And just like that, they were done talking about it. Five-year-olds were ruthless.

“Chocolate?” he asked.

“Two scoops.”

“One.”

“Dads give two.”

Colter looked at Sutton. “Did you hear that? I’ve been a dad for five minutes and she’s already working me.”

Sutton grinned. “She works fast.”

Lynlee grabbed his hand and started dragging him toward the truck. “Walter can come too.”

“The dog is not getting ice cream.”

“He likes vanilla.”

Colter stopped. “How do you know that?”

Lynlee kept walking.

“Princess?”

She walked faster.

Colter looked at Sutton. “Your daughter.”

Sutton slipped her hand into his. “Our daughter.”

He looked at Lynlee, already ten feet ahead of them and confident her newly acquired father would follow.

Yeah. She was their daughter.