She didn't respond to any of his texts.

His calls went unanswered too, the line ringing only once before routing to voicemail each of the three times he tried.

But it wasn't until the small Read10:59 AM appeared on Bob's phone that he started to accept that Phoenix might be right.

His face fell as he stared at the screen for a moment longer before handing the phone back to Bob. "Thanks," he said, the word sounding flat and hollow.

The other man's mouth made silent attempts to form words as he accepted the phone, only stopping when Fanboy shook his head, relieving Bob of the sense of duty to respond. Bob sighed, pressing his lips together in a commiserative frown as he placed his phone upside down on the bar in front of him. "I'm sorry," he finally managed.

"Jesus, he doesn't need your condolences," Hangman sighed loudly from where he lay across the leather couch nearby. The accompanying eye roll was practically audible.

Bob side-eyed Hangman, his lips twisting in contempt.

"Oh, come on," Hangman scoffed as he rose into a seated position, throwing a hand out to gesture towards Fanboy. "You're acting like you just found out your mother died just 'cause some ex from five years ago who blocked you."

The words either didn't reach Fanboy or rolled right off him because his attention remained fixed on the phone in front of Bob.

"I just don't get it," Fanboy murmured.

"She's. Not. Interested," Hangman asserted, ignoring the warning looks from the other aviators. "Get over it or give up the dream that you're going on this mission." The blonde shook his head as he stood up. "If I stay at this pity party any longer, I'm going to start growing ovaries,"hequipped, heading towards the door.

"Like you could handle them," Phoenix called after his retreating form. Hangman didn't slow down or even acknowledge her statement though as he disappeared out to the hallway.

Bob shot Phoenix a smile as she shook her head. "Asshole."

"As much as I hate to say it, he has a point," Payback said gently from his seat next to Fanboy. "You've been off your game up there."

"I–"

"Come on man," Payback cut him off with a sympathetic smile. "I've seen what you can do. You were the best Wizzo in our class."

"I know," Fanboy said, hanging his head. "I just can't shake it."

Payback pressed his lips together, meeting Bob's eyes over Fanboy's hunched form. The other WSO widened his eyes meaningfully, the loss for what to do written clearly on his face. Payback jerked his head in dismissal, and Bob slid from his seat, patting Fanboy's back once before heading over to Harvard and Fritz.

With a quick glance up to the heavens and prayer for help, Payback scooted closer to Fanboy. "Look, do you still trust her?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle and low.

Fanboy looked up, meeting Payback's eyes, and he could see that his closest friend here—the only one who knew just how little sense this all made—was approaching the end of his rope.

"Yeah, of course."

"Then trust that whatever reason she has for not wanting to talk to you is a good one."

It was a solid piece of logic, easily traced back to the golden ring that encircled Payback's left finger. Fanboy could practically hear Neema's voice in the advice, reminding him that Caro had never done anything without a reason. While each of her decisions were explained with a breezy sentence or sharp quip, there had always been a thorough and conscientiousthought process behind her actions.

But she had always offered up her reasonings willingly. They had never been so much as veiled, let alone something he had to pry from her.

And it was that thought that led him to shake his head, eyes peering appealingly at Payback, urging him to understand. "I can't," he whispered,the admission coming out pained and apologetic.

Payback didn't have the time to do much more than sigh before there was a shuffling at the door that drew their attention. An administrative officer stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. "Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, you're next."

The three men nodded, Coyote using Yale's distractedness to spin a shot into the goal before backing up, grinning from the foosball table. Payback slid from his seat, clapping Fanboy on the shoulder as he did so. "Come on. We'll figure this out after we go make an old man do some push ups."

"198…"Hondo counted, following it up with a loud, "Down!"

Fanboy wasn't sure what hurt more: his muscles that had been battered from the flying and subsequent push ups, his ego at having Maverick continue to best them despite having no WSO or wingman, or his conscience for being the reason that Payback and Coyote were both sweating next to him.

Because he couldn't stop thinking about it.

About that look on her face when he told her he'd missed her.

About the stupid gray letters that appeared on Bob's phone.

About the last time he'd seen her and how he should have just said it.

"200!" Hondo announced. "You're good to—"

The rest of his sentence was lost as Fanboy pushed himself up off the ground and onto his feet, taking off down the tarmac.

"Fanboy!" Payback called after him, but the backseater didn't stop, starting towards the building with more purpose than he'd even shown in the goddamn air.

Ahead of him, Hangman grinned, the sun glinting off his golden hair. "You know, if you ever get her to talk to you, make sure to thank her for me. For taking out the competition."

Fanboy's jaw set, his hands clenching into fists, but he continued on and into the showers, to wash away–even temporarily–the feeling of failure. But even the scalding water couldn't burn it away, and he emerged from the showers feeling somehow worse than when he went in.

"Fanboy."

The sudden sound of his name caused his heart to jump in his chest, jerking around to see Phoenix's form waiting beside the door. She pushed herself away from the wall to fall in line with him.

"What was that?"

He shook his head, turning back around so he could head towards the debrief room early for some peace and quiet before Hangman, Harvard, and Yale came down.

"Hey," Phoenix called after him, catching up with long strides. "I'm serious. Calling the wrong break is the kind of error that gets you washed out of flight school."

Fanboy shook his head, looking away from Phoenix. He could still feel her gaze on him, insistent and intense. "I know," he mumbled.

"Look, I've already got my hands full with Rooster; I can't have you spinning out too," Phoenix sighed, hand pushing at his arm to turn him towards her, finally getting him to stop. "So explain it to me–why is an ex you haven't seen or spoken to in the past five years so in your head?"

Fanboy sighed, running a hand over his head, the short hairs tickling his palm. His eyes rested on a photo of a pilot grinning in the seat of an old F-14.

"Because when I left, she loved me, and now she looks terrified of me. Something happened."

He chanced a glance at Phoenix's face finding the pilot staring at him with furrowed brows. "Five years happened."

He shook his head. "It's bigger than that. I mean, if you're right, she blocked me a while ago, and I don't know what I did."

"Maybe you didn't do anything," Phoenix shook her head. It was his time to look at her confused. "Maybe it isn't about you. Maybe she needed to block you to move on. Maybe she has."

The sentence hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. It was a moment before he could breathe again.

"But why wouldn't she just say that?"

"I don't know," Phoenix shrugged. "But you need to figure out a way to let this go and get your head on straight. We need you on this mission."

Her last sentence was lost to him though because finally someone said something actually actionable.

He needed to get his head on straight. And that's exactly what he would do.

Renew Chiropractic was a six minute drive from base.

Six minutes.

For the past week, he had only been one well-timed traffic light or random turn down a side street away from seeing her on one of his runs. Instead, it took a Google Search and a four hour wait until his scheduled appointment slot.

His head was still reeling with the revelation as he pushed open the glass front door, entering the serene chiropractic office. Everything about the room was meant to be calming: the soft jade color of the walls, the essential oil blend puffing out of the diffuser, and the soothing nature sounds bubbling from the speaker. Even the row of empty chairs along the wall looked more plush than one might expect from a doctor's office.

None of it seemed to have any effect on him though, each muscle in his body still tense and on alert as he approached the front desk.

A tall, thin black man with wire-rimmed glasses looked up as he approached, eyes widening for a second upon seeing Fanboy in front of him.

"Hi, can I help you?" the receptionist asked. The middle-aged white woman sat next to him cast him a puzzled look before her eyes too wandered to Fanboy. She sat up a bit straighter in her seat, hazel eyes narrowed slightly as she followed his progress towards them.

"Yeah," Fanboy said, stepping up to the desk. "I have an appointment with Dr. Alvarez."

He offered them a hesitant smile, one that he hoped softened the edges of his obvious anxiety. Instead, the woman's mouth drew in tighter, dangerously close to a frown. The man next to her however schooled his features into professional sympathy. "I'm sorry, sir. Dr. Alvarez actually had to step out."

Fanboy's shoulders sank under the weight of his disappointment. He'd known it'd been a risk using his name while making the appointment. A part of him had considered using a fake name, but ultimately decided that would cross the line into unhinged. "Do you know if she'll be back today or this week?"

The man shook his head. "She didn't say."

"Dr. Houten is still in and he should be finishing up with his last patient if you would like to see him instead," the woman offered, rising from her chair. "I'll just let him know."

Fanboy took a deep breath, eyes floating to the open hallway behind them as he weighed his options. He could stay and waste his time getting adjusted by her colleague which meant he'd have to wait until next week in order to try catching her here again or he could just leave and camp out in the parking lot like a total lunatic—he didn't finish the thought. Instead, down the hall a door opened and out of it came Dr. Lane.

The same woman who had spilled a drink on Caro that first night back at the Hard Deck.

Who, when he asked during his physical, had scoffed at the very idea of knowing Caro beyond that incident.

Who now made eye-contact with him and clearly and solemnly said, "Shit."

She spun on her heel, hands coming up as if to push someone behind her, but instead, the person brushed her aside, coming out and peering down the hall to see what had prompted the reaction.

Caro.

She was openly shocked, her eyes wide and locked on him. Dr. Lane cast a quick glance between Caro and Fanboy before fixing her own determined gaze on him, her jaw set as she started down the hallway towards him with long purposeful strides. She stopped next to the older woman who had freed herself from behind the receptionist's desk.

It took less than a second for him to discern what was happening, the piercing realization bringing with it an acute and sharp pain in his chest. They were barricading him from the hallway. They were protecting her from him.

His face crumpled, brows furrowing and lips bowing into a frown. "I just came to talk," he said, his voice desperate and thin.

Dr. Lane shook her head. "You should head back to base." The words were technically a suggestion, but they sounded far more like an order. "She knows how to reach you if she wants to talk."

Fanboy opened and closed his mouth again, eyes shooting over her shoulder to try to find Caro. She had come closer, reaching the trio now and laying a hand on the other doctor's shoulder. "Jas," she said calmly, gently pushing her to the side so that she could come out into the waiting room. "It's ok."

The statement did little to pacify Dr. Lane. Instead, the other woman shot Caro a look that very clearly expressed her distrust of the situation. She didn't say anything though, allowing Caro to pass in between her and the Renew Chiropractic employee.

"We can talk outside," Caro said, pointing to the door behind Fanboy.

He nodded, leading the way out, pausing only to hold the door open for her before he headed down the path and out of sight of the glass front door.

When he turned to face Caro, he found her with her hand stuffed in the pockets of her maroon scrubs, her face carefully and uncharacteristically impassive.

"I'm sorry–" he started before Caro cut him off.

"You found where I work?" Her words came out even, dull almost, but he could sense the danger underneath them.

"I tried to text and call, but–"

"But I didn't answer, so you decided to ambush me at my job," she finished for him, folding her arms across her chest.

"It wasn't an ambush!" he protested, his heart rate rocketing at the accusation. "I made an appointment. So you'd know I was coming."

He watched her process this statement in real time. Her brow scrunching in the middle and corners of her mouth tugging down slightly. Her eyes slid to the right, towards the building, before snapping back to him. It was then that she seemed to see him for the first time—noticing that he was in his service khakis and the tension in his shoulders and maybe even the plea in his face for her to just give him a chance.

Caro took a deep breath, audibly pushing it out through her nose. "Ok," she said, her voice having lost some of its edge. "I can give you fifteen minutes."

Fanboy also breathed out a sigh of relief, eyes falling to the ground between them before flickering up to her. "You know, the website said forty-five," he attempted with a smile which faded quickly as her eyes hardened once more. "Sorry, yeah, fifteen minutes."

Silence entwined itself between the two of them as they stood in front of her office building, both in their respective uniforms and both wishing very much that this wasn't how they were spending their day.

Caro was the one who finally broke the silence. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah," Fanboy breathed out, hand coming up to rub the back of his head. "Yeah, I did." His eyes met hers again, despite the fact that every time he seemed to look at her, she seemed to grow even more guarded, even further away. "The other night at the Hard Deck…and then now…" he took in a deep breath before releasing it and the remainder of his sentence with it. "It just seems like there's something wrong between us."

"I was just surprised," Caro shrugged.

"Yeah," Fanboy agreed, hating his masochistic need to push the subject. "It just seemed like more than surprise. I know it's been years, but I thought…you just didn't seem…I don't know…"

"Happy to see you?" Caro supplied, raising an eyebrow.

He flushed at the accurate indictment of his own ego, and she shook her head at him.

"What were you expecting, Mickey?" she asked, exasperation tingeing every word. "Me to throw myself into your arms like nothing's changed?"

The thought had crossed his mind more than once, but even he knew that outcome was more of a daydream, a fantasy, than a possible outcome of his arrival back in Fightertown.

"No," Fanboy shook his head. "I just thought we were good."

"We're fine."

"Then why did your receptionists just try to keep me from seeing you? And why has Dr. Lane stepped in to keep you from spending more than five minutes with me?"

He didn't want to know the answer to either question. There couldn't be a good reason–one that would get him back on track and restore his focus on earning a spot in the mission. Whatever she said was going to spin him out worse than he was already. But he had to know. Because if he left it at Caro's lie he would never forgive himself. Just like he already couldn't forgive himself for just accepting that the original plan for their relationship's end was just fine. That nothing had changed from the moment they made that agreement to his last moments of saying goodbye.

"They're overprotective," Caro supplied.

"But they don't even know me."

"They know about you. That's enough."

He grew quiet, and the urge he had to walk towards her, to close the space between them, died. Instead, he pulled back some, as if she had poked a finger into his chest the way she used to when she was mad.

"What do they know?"

For the first time, Caro was unable to meet his gaze, her eyes going to a large ceramic flower pot that lined the path. "They know I loved you and that you left and blocked me so I haven't seen or heard from you in five years."

"What?" His horrified whisper seemed to suck out all of the air and sounds from their surroundings.

Caro met his eyes, and he could see the emotion there for the first time, thick and threatening. "You left," she repeated, "And you blocked me."

"I didn't block you–" he started, voice still wavering and almost soundless.

"You did," Caro said with a nod. She took a breath in, and like that, the emotions fell back down into her and away from the surface. "It's fine, though. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters," Fanboy insisted, finally taking a step towards her.

"No it doesn't. I'm over it."

"It matters to me," he tried again, taking another step, but Caro tightened her arms against her chest.

"It shouldn't," she said flatly. "Because it wouldn't change anything. You'd still have gone to Virginia, I'd still have been here, and life still would've moved on for both of us."

"Would it have?" He sounded almost as desperate as he felt.

"It did," she said, quietly. Caro ran a hand through her hair, looking over his shoulder and out into the parking lot. "Things are different now."

There was something in her voice. A distance almost as if trying to avoid coming too close to what exactly life had changed.

A thought popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the question was escaping. "Are you seeing someone?"

Caro's expression turned stony, and she straightened her spine. "What? You'll only respect the fact that I'm not interested in starting whatever it is you're hoping for if another man is involved?"

"No," he sputtered.

"Then why does it matter if I'm seeing anyone?"

The pressure in his chest felt worse than any G force he had ever experienced.

"I just–" he started, struggling to form a response that wouldn't further drive her away. "I'm trying to understand."

Her eyes fluttered closed in obvious annoyance, but he supposed the gesture was better than having her turn away. When she looked at him once more, she was still clearly frustrated, but her gaze had softened some.

"I'm not seeing anyone," she admitted. "I'm just older now. I have more responsibilities, and I can't—" she cut herself off, swallowing and then breathing and then restarting again, slower this time. "I can't do this again," she finished, gesturing with a finger. "I need something stable now."

He was able to nod twice before the weight of his thoughts caused him to just hang his head to stare at his shoes. "Yeah that's...that's fair," he managed. Quiet once more settled itself around them, ballooning in the space between them so he felt even further from her. "Could we at least maybe get a drink while I'm here. As friends?"

"Mickey," she said, gently. Too gently. "You know we can't be just friends."

A car door slammed in the parking lot behind him, pulling Caro's attention from him. The color drained from her face, taking with it the awful look of sympathy. Instead she looked horrified, like she might throw up or pass out. Or both.

"Caro?" Fanboy asked, closing the space between them in two long strides. "Are you —"

"Mama!" A delighted shriek cut him off as quick and heavy thwaps hurtled towards them. He turned, watching with wide eyes as a little girl with bronzed skin and dark pigtails barreled towards Caro, only stopping when she collided with the chiropractor's legs, narrowly missing him.

He was going to be sick.

"Look!" The little girl demanded, shoving her hand up into Caro-her mother-'s face. "Kelsey painted my nails!"

Each little finger nail was a different color. Some a neon green, others a deep glittery navy, a sleek red, and a metallic purple. No two colors or textures were the same.

"I see," Caro said with a nod, taking the girl's tiny hand in hers and tilting it back and forth to inspect each nail.

For a second it looked as if she might glance up to meet Fanboy's eyes, but instead she looked into the little girl-her daughter-'s face.

"You know Bryson would probably like to see your nails, " she commented, releasing the small hand. "Why don't you go show him, and I'll meet you in there when I'm done talking? Then we can go home."

The little girl looked up at her before suddenly shifting her attention to Fanboy, her big brown eyes peering intently at him, assessing.

Evidently he failed as she frowned and then turned back to Caro, appealingly. "Um, what if you came with me?" Caro gave her a small smile, reaching down to brush hair out of her daughter's face.

"Give me five minutes ok? You can ask Kelsey to help you keep track," she said, looking up to where the babysitter—Kelsey—hovered. It was then Fanboy noticed that she was staring between him and Caro, brow furrowed. She seemed to snap out of it at the sound of her name though, reaching a hand out for the little girl.

"Come on, Dalia. Let's go show Bryson."

The name caused all breath to escape from Mickey's lungs, and this time Caro's eyes did shoot to his, their gazes locking on each other.

Neither of them took their eyes off of the other as the little girl reached for her babysitter's hand, letting the teenager guide her inside and away from Fanboy and Caro and the tension between them outside.

"Dalia?" He asked, the repetition of the name more than just a question of whether or not he had heard it correctly.

He was met with silence, which maybe should have been answer enough. Still, he felt like he needed to hear it, needed some sort of response, and so he attempted to ask again.

"Is she…?" he trailed off, looking to the door the little girl had passed through just moments before.

The little girl.

His–

He couldn't finish the thought.

Because she couldn't be. They had been safe—mostly— and who was to say that she hadn't been with anyone after he left? And it was entirely possible that when he'd shared that name with her five years ago, both of them wrapped up in her sheets with his arms around her and her head resting against his shoulder, she had decided that she'd liked it too and wanted to use it herself for any future children.

But when he met her eyes again, he could see it all over her face.

"Oh my God," he murmured.

"Mickey, I—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, heart pounding as the world seemed to spin around him, alarms whirring to life to signal that he was crashing.

"I tried."

The words came out so small and quiet, it broke something in him.

"What?" his voice cracked on the word.

"Right after I found out. I tried calling you and texting, but nothing went through. I even tried reaching out on Facebook, and I was blocked." She spread her hands wide, shrugging.

It hit him then: he had blocked her. Right after he had returned to his squadron and gotten word of their upcoming short deployment. It had been too hard seeing pictures of her pop up on his feed. He wasted hours talking himself out of reaching back out and begging her to at least try long distance with him. He'd blocked her to protect her from any potential weak moments on the carrier.

"Shit," he breathed out, stepping backwards. His hand going up to his forehead. He missed his curls, something to hold onto to ground him in reality.

"I–" he started before taking another breath and trying again. "Do I need to sign papers or something?"

"Papers?"' Caro repeated. "For what?" she asked.

He lifted the hand from his head, gesturing to where his—Dalia had disappeared. "For her."

Understanding dawned on her face as she offered a smile that made him want to scream just to dislodge the emotion caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. She shook her head. "You don't need to do anything."

"I should help. I want to help," he pressed, correcting himself.

"Mickey," Caro said clearly, sternly. The same way he imagined she spoke to Dalia. "You're fine. Nothing changes just because you know now."

He breathed out a disbelieving, humorless laugh. "Everything changes."

"You're still in the Navy."

He sucked in a breath. Fuck.

Fuck.

She didn't need to continue. Bringing up the Navy was enough, but she went on anyway, whether because she thought he'd need more explanation or because she wanted him to feel the weight of her world.

"You're still stationed on the other side of the country. You're still gone in a month. You still have deployments and missions and wars and I don't want that for her." Caro stopped, and he could see the emotion back on the surface. It was everywhere from her eyes to her now slightly slumped shoulders to the desperate edge her voice had taken on. "I'm just trying to do what's best for my daughter here. You see that right?"

Fanboy's shoulders dropped. "I know," he said. "It's just…I have a daughter, Caro. I want to at least meet her. Even if it's not as her dad."

Caro was quiet, and he could see the thought turning over in her head. The tinkling bell of the front door opening interrupted her, prompting the pair to turn in tandem to see who was coming back out. Fanboy's breath caught hoping for Dalia to come bounding around the corner. Instead, it was Dr. Lane.

"Caro?" she asked. "I've been sent to inform you that it's been six minutes."

Caro nodded, offering a quick reassuring smile. "I'll be right in."

Dr. Lane nodded, her eyes falling on Fanboy with a hard, assessing look. She remained standing, just off to the side, resolute.

This prompted a softer, more genuine smile from Caro. "Can you let her know Jas?" she asked. The other doctor seemed more than a little reluctant to head back inside, disappearing with another sound of the bell.

Caro waited a second more, as if not entirely sure Jas was gone. Finally she faced him again, more relaxed than he'd seen her since he returned to San Diego. "I'll think about it," Caro assured. "Just promise me you won't try to come back here again or try to see her on your own. Please."

Fanboy nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I promise."

"I'll text you. Either way, I'll text you, and we'll talk. Deal?"

A sad half smile crossed his face remembering all of the other deals they'd made. This felt like the worst one by far.

"Deal," he agreed.

Caro re-entered the office to find Dalia standing on one of the chairs, peering over the reception desk.

"Dalia," she sighed, hand going to her head as her daughter's head whipped around. "No standing on the chairs, remember?"

"Sorry," Dalia and Jas both apologized and Caro's eyes slid over to the auburn haired woman as her daughter jumped down off the seat.

"I thought you'd have headed back."

Jas shrugged. "Thought I'd stick around just in case."

"That's kind of you, but I'm fine," Caro said, heading forward to her daughter, wrapping her arms around the four year old's torso in a swaying hug.

Jas snorted. "That has got to be the least convincing I'm fine ever."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Kelsey apologized from where she had taken her mother's seat next to Bryson.

Caro shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for. Thank you for dropping her off." She looked down at the four year old. "And giving her a fun day."

Kelsey smiled as her parents came down the hall together, Dr. Houten giving his wife the same look he gave patients who came in after complicated car accidents. His eyes found Caro's, and her stomach dropped.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Really," Caro dismissed. "It was just awkward."

"What was awkward, Mama?" Dalia asked, leaning her head back to peer up at her mother. Caro offered a smile.

"I got a surprise visit from someone I haven't seen in a really long time. And sometimes when you haven't seen someone in a long time, things are awkward."

"Oh." Dalia said, hanging herself forwards on Caro's arms. "Can we go home now?"

Caro nodded. "Let me grab my things from my office, ok?"

She headed towards the back and Dr. Houten followed her. "Robin filled me in a little on what's going on. If you need to take a few days to sort this out, I can take your patients and we can reschedule the rest–"

"It's fine. Really," Caro said, bending over her desk to pick up her purse. "He won't be back."

He raised an eyebrow.

"He doesn't want to see Dalia?"

Caro looked up at him. "He won't be back here. I just–I need this to keep me busy."

He looked unsure, pressing his lips together before nodding. "Ok. But if it becomes obvious that you need time off, I'm not giving you an option."

"Thanks, Mark," Caro said, shouldering her purse. "Really."

He smiled, looking for a second like he might be tempted to give her a side hug before realizing that'd be even more awkward than a regular one. Instead, he laid a light hand on her back as if ushering her out of her own office.

Dalia was straddling two chairs when Caro exited the office, her hands wrapped in Jas' for stability. The guilty look on Jas' face killed the reprimand on Caro's tongue, replaced instead with a laugh and shake of her head.

"Ready?" She asked her daughter.

Dalia jumped out of the chair, tugging her hands free from Jas'. "Can we get ice cream?"

Caro loved her daughter.

She was so good. So easy all things considered. She wanted her mother and ice cream and fun, and she didn't need any complications to her life.

"Hmm," she hummed, squinting in mock-thought. She could practically feel the excitement bubbling off of the four year old. "I don't know…."

"Pleeeeeeease," Dalia begged, skipping forward to wrap her arms around Caro, head tilted up to implore her mother with big eyes.

"Ok," Caro agreed, tapping her daughter's nose. Dalia let out a cheer, releasing Caro and bouncing off towards the door.

It was entirely possible that more sugar was the last thing Dalia needed, but the girl apparently knew a thing or two about timing her questions.

"You know," Jas said, sidling up next to Caro. "I like ice cream."

Caro raised an eyebrow as she pressed out the door, waving a hand to the staff remaining behind. "Is that supposed to be a subtle hint that you'd like to join us?"

"To be fair, subtlety is not my strong suit," Jas admitted, walking alongside Caro. "If you'd rather keep it just a mother daughter thing, though, I totally get it."

Caro smiled at her new friend before her eyes darted to her daughter about to hop into the parking lot. "Hand please, Dalia," she called out. The little girl turned and scampered back, taking hold of Cato's outstretched hand. "What do you think?" Caro asked her daughter. "Can Jas join us for ice cream?"

"Yep," Dalia chirped as she skipped next to her mom. Caro looked back at Jas with a smile.

"You're in."