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I was relieved when the little professor had agreed to continue our day together.
“Let me show you inside where it’s warmer,” I say, taking her hand and leading her through the back door. After helping her hang up her bag and take off her coat and shoes, we make our way into the kitchen.
“You have a beautiful house, Etienne,” Violet says, smiling. She runs into the room. “Is this a gas stove?”
“Yes.” I chuckle. “Want a tour?”
“Please,” she says, running back to me and taking my hand.
I walk us out into the living room that overlooks the lake.
“Did you take these?” Violet asks in awe, directing us toward large photographs of the sunrise over the Grand Canyon.
“No, my mémé was a photographer too.”
“Your grandmother took these?”
“She did,” I say proudly. “She taught me when I was young, and then when phones became cameras, I helped her learn the new technology.”
“I bet she’s proud of you,” she says confidently, gazing at the glimmering rock formations.
“I hope so. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, I take her down the hall and open the first door on the right. Once we’ve stepped inside and she’s seen the room, I hear a gasp of pleasure.
Spinning around, she grabs my arms in excitement. “You have a playroom.”
“I do. Why don’t you see if there’s a game you like?” I point her in the direction of the bookcase filled with a collection of games any little girl would love. “We can add anything to room that would make you happy little professor, but these are things I thought a little girl may like.”
She rushes over and exclaims, “These haven’t even been opened.”
“I haven’t found a little girl to play with yet.”
“I’ll play with you. I love games.” She smiles at me and grabs a game from the shelf.
I’ve been cautious as we work out how little Violet is. One day isn’t enough to discover whether or not we’re a match, but I’m hoping we’ll get to know one another, both as adults and as Daddy and his little. From what I can tell, we might be the perfect match.
“Let’s play this one.” She walks back to me with the Disney version of Monopoly, saying with a smile, “I haven’t played this version.”
“Then let’s grab something to drink, bring it into the living room, and play on the coffee table,” I say, leading her back down the hall.
We work together to set up the familiar game, tearing off the plastic, shuffling the cards, choosing which pieces we want to play, and having fun seeing how they changed such a familiar game. I hear the chime of a text message and watch as Violet jumps out of her skin. She takes her phone out of her back pocket, glances at the screen, and drops it onto the coffee table with a sigh of relief.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, taking the dice from the little plastic baggie.
She looks at me, her eyes wide, and she bites her lip nervously.
“Violet?”
“I thought it was maybe him again,” she answers sheepishly.
“Your stalker?” I ask, then the word again clicks in my brain. “Did you get another text recently?”
She nods, biting her lip. “This afternoon.”
“Show me.” I hold out my hand.
