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“She has cried ever since we got here, until you arrived. How did you do that?” he asked, his fingers brushing hers.
Grace looked into Aidan’s eyes and recognized pain and uncertainty, eagerness and caring, all in a glance. She wanted to touch him, to tell him everything would be okay for Emma and for them.
But she knew it wasn’t that simple. If they were to make any of this work, they needed to take it slow, not say things that might end up being worthless a few days or weeks from now. “She cried a little while we were in her room, and I let her. She needed to cry. She’s missing her mom.”
“And I can’t figure out how to help her,” he said, as they walked into the kitchen. His hand brushed hers, sending an exciting thrill up her arm.
“Emma, your daddy is going to be your assistant and help you make the sandwiches. Is that okay?” Grace asked, at once pleased and lonely to be entering her kitchen. But she didn’t live here anymore, and might not ever live here again.
“What’s an assistant?” Emma asked.
“It’s the person who helps the person making a meal,” Aidan said, smiling his thanks to Grace as he went to the cupboard to get out a loaf of bread.
“I do it,” Emma said, taking the bread and pulling the fridge open. Reaching into the shelf on the door, she took out the peanut butter.
“Let me help you,” Grace offered.
“Okay.” Emma put her arms up to be lifted onto a bar stool at the kitchen island.
Grace got a knife out of a drawer. “Why don’t you lay out the bread slices, Daddy, while I get the jam? Then you can help Emma put the peanut butter and jam on the slices.”
“Sounds great,” he said, helping Emma to spread the slices with a thick layer of peanut butter and jam.
At the sight of her husband being so caring to his daughter, she had to turn away to hide her tears. When she turned after composing herself, Aidan was watching her.
“Okay. Done.” Emma patted a sandwich until peanut butter oozed out of it.
“I’ll put the sandwiches on plates and take them to the table,” Aidan said, his eyes still on Grace, making the heat rise in her cheeks. He took dishes from the shelf, his arm brushing against her as he moved around the kitchen.
“What does everyone want to drink?” he said. “If we were not being observed by the princess, I would kiss you right about now,” he whispered, leaning closer as he opened the fridge.
“I want milk,” Emma called from the table.
“I’ll have water,” Lisa added.
“What about you, Mrs. Fellowes?” Aidan said, continuing to whisper.
“Water is fine,” Grace said, feeling the heat of his body, smelling the scent of his skin. She wished they were alone.
“Daddy!” Emma called. “I want milk.”
“Coming right up,” he said, pouring a glass.
“This is the best,” Emma said excitedly as she munched on her sandwich.
“You bet it is,” Grace said, glancing around the kitchen, feeling connected and happy.
Yet, as it stood right now, she didn’t belong here. Although Aidan had been very kind and expressed his appreciation of her efforts, at no point did he say anything about their situation.
When they finished eating, she put the dishes in the dishwasher, a simple act, but one that filled her with longing for all she’d lost. This wasn’t her home. It had been her choice to leave, and yet what had driven her out hadn’t changed.
Feeling out of place, she slipped quietly upstairs to retrieve the materials she wanted. Returning to the kitchen she said goodbye to everyone. “I can see myself out,” she said, not wanting to interrupt the happy scene.
“No. Wait.” Aidan came around the table. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
