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She walked out of the kitchen as fast as her legs would take her.
“I’m here for you,” I called out.
“I know,” she responded in a mouse voice. “Have a good day.”
I was going to try.Chapter Thirteen“I’m sorry about dinner.” Jonah walked into my apartment holding a timid Whitney’s hand. She looked around our urban loft with wide eyes. It made me wonder if she was thinking about building codes and safety violations. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was. Or maybe she was put off by all our mismatched furniture. That burnt orange couch was an eyesore, but you couldn’t beat free. Or maybe she was afraid I would torture her with solder irons. Jonah said she liked me, but I wasn’t so sure. She had to know there was something going on between her dad and me. That couldn’t be easy on her, no matter how young she was.
“No problem.” I smiled at Whitney. “We’ll have a great time while you’re off saving lives.”
Whitney hid behind her dad’s legs. I didn’t think she agreed with my assessment.
Jonah put his arm around Whitney. “I shouldn’t be too long.”
I knelt so I was eye level with Whitney. “Do you want to help me make spaghetti?”
“Are the noodles whole grain?”
Oh crap. Could enriched flour noodles be considered whole grain? I mean, they obviously came from wheat grains somewhere along the way. “Yep.” I was an awful person. Guess who was hiding the freaking spaghetti box? I held out my hand. “Should we get started?” I was hungry.
She stared at my hand like I had the plague. “Did you know that tattoo ink can be toxic?”
I almost laughed. Her dad had said the same thing to me when I got my “real” tattoo on my shoulder. I’d tried to convince him to get one with me, but he’d cited that tattoo ink could be found in people’s lymph nodes and I should be cautious. I pulled up my sleeve to show Whitney my henna tattoo. I was proud of the flower and leaf pattern I had drawn on myself yesterday. “This is a henna tattoo. It will be gone in two weeks.”
“Henna? What is that?”
“It’s a dye made from the plant Lawsonia inermi.”
Whitney leaned back like she was surprised I knew such a technical name. Then she scrunched her cute button nose. “Is it safe?”
“For most people, yes.”
She hesitantly reached out and with her tiny fingers she brushed my arm. “It is pretty.”
“Thank you. Maybe,” I looked up at Jonah, “if it’s okay with your dad, I can draw one on you.”
Jonah flashed me a smile before we both focused on a horrified Whitney.
“I could not do that.”
I thought she might cry. “I promise I won’t make you.” I felt awful for even bringing it up.
Jonah knelt next to me and took Whitney’s hand, sweetly kissing it. For that she gave her dad a little smile. It eased some of the tension lines on Jonah’s face. He obviously worried a great deal about his little girl. “Honey, please try and have fun tonight.” It sounded like he was begging her.
Her doe eyes said she wasn’t sure if she could. That was heartbreaking, but it offered me a challenge that I was going to take seriously. Whitney was going to leave the loft a happier little girl. And she was going to be a little girl tonight, if I had any say in the matter.
Her lip trembled as if she didn’t know what fun was, you know, outside of reading George Washington addresses. “My books and computer are at home,” she replied.
Jonah smoothed her straight-as-a-pin hair. “I promise you don’t need those things to have fun.”
Her eyebrows raised in alarm.
Jonah kissed her brow. “You can do this. I love you very much.” He stood, and before I knew it, he was kissing my cheek before whispering, “Save some fun for me.”
I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about henna tattoos. He had me wishing he was kissing more than my cheek. I had to take a moment to catch my breath. I felt like a silly schoolgirl all flummoxed over a kiss on the cheek, but it was more than that. Jonah’s tenderness with his daughter and me was flutter inducing all on its own. “I’ll see what I can do,” I flirted back.
“I look forward to that.”
I smiled to myself, thinking he had no idea I meant we would color together or something innocent like that. I took Whitney’s hand. “We’ll see you later.”
Jonah’s eyes sparkled at the sight of Whitney’s and my clasped hands. He had to have known, though, that her hand was limp in mine, as if I was forcing her to hold hands.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Thank you,” he said to me.
I opened the door and waved him out, acting braver than I felt about the prospect of watching Whitney. But what was the adage of children being able to smell fear? I was trying to hide the stench of it brewing within me. Once Jonah was gone and the door shut, I turned to my charge. “Are you ready to make dinner?”
