Page 32 of Small Town, Big Storm

“Look, Mom!”I jerk, nearly upend the scoop of flour I’ve been carefully trying to measure.

Some of it tumbles over the edges of the measuring cup, sprinkling down onto the floor and my clothes like snow.

Great.

More laundry.

“Look, Mom!”Holly’s excitement is paired with a tug this time, sending more flour flying onto the floor, my clothes, and now, Holly’s too.

Sighing, I set the measuring cup down.

Yay.

Evenmorelaundry.

“What’s up, honey?”I ask, brushing the flour off my hands and following her over to the window.

“Your friend is here.And he brought Scoops!”She pulls the curtains to the side, practically vibrating with excitement, and I again wonder how the hell I’m going to navigate this without either of us getting hurt.

Because Scoops and Monday night dinner?

Park time and Storm’s softI remember everything?

Seven stolen years and my body not having forgotten how good it feels when his is near?

Panic threatens to burst free just thinking about the tightrope I’m going to have to walk managing all of this, the freaking pieces I’ll have to pick up again, have to glue back together, and?—

I clench my teeth.

It doesn’t matter.

So long as I protect Holly.

Except…am I doing that?

Allowing him to come here, opening her up to the hurt that might—will—come.

My stomach twists?—

“Let’s go, Mom!”

She grabs my hand, drags me through the front door of our apartment and down the stairs.

A soft grunt as she pushes into the bar, navigating the hushed and shadowed floor like she’s done it a thousand times.

And I suppose she has.

Same as I did growing up.

I just never would have dragged Sully by the hand.

He would’ve told me to gruffly get a move on and answer the door then to get back upstairs so the ice cream didn’t melt.

My uncle wasn’t what one would call warm.

But he loved his ice cream.

And me.Even though he and I were complete opposites.