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“I think Daddy’s home,” I heard Reagan say. Emma’s laughter stopped, then her head poked around the corner before disappearing again. I tilted my head to the side and just waited to see what would happen next. “Go on.”
Slowly, Emma emerged wearing an apron that was way too big on her, her hair braided on either side of her head. She shuffled toward me, trying to not trip over the extra fabric at her feet.
I crouched as she approached, stopping a foot from me. She held out a monstrosity of a cupcake, looking incredibly proud.
“Look, Daddy. It’s Uni!” She clutched it tightly, the pink icing dripping over the edges and onto her hands. A blue spike of frosting drooped on one side, and I assumed that was Uni’s horn.
“Looks amazing, baby,” I laughed. I glanced over her head, finding Rae leaning against the doorway, a similar apron to Emma’s on, and her hair picked up in a clip like it usually was. She was smiling softly, and with the soft glow of the golden kitchen lights, and the way her eyes seemed to melt, she looked angelic.
I looked away.
“It’s for you.” Emma stepped forward, tripping on the fabric. Reaching out, I grabbed her before she could go down and took the cupcake from her. “Auntie Rae and me baked them. Eat it!” She stared up at me, grinning from ear to ear like a maniac.
“How about after dinner?” I asked, standing and propping her on my hip. Her lip jutted out in a little pout, and I sighed, glancing at Reagan again. She just grinned before disappearing back into the kitchen.
As I made my way toward the kitchen, I took a bite of the cupcake, feeling the frosting cover my nose and chin. Emma threw her head back and howled with laughter, her sticky hands clutching my shirt.
It was like a sugar bomb exploded in my mouth, and I forced myself not to gag at the crunchy bits of hard sprinkles in the otherwise soft icing. Walking into the kitchen, I dropped Emma back on her feet to the floor as I looked around.
A chair was pushed against the counter next to the stove, where it looked like an actual bomb had gone off. Dishes, bowls, plates, spices, utensils, and cupcakes covered every surface. I stared at the mess, then at Reagan as she helped Emma clamber onto the chair.
“Uh, what happened in here?” I asked, trying not to sound like I was about to have a panic attack at the mess.
“We made dinner, Daddy,” Emma huffed, sounding like it was an obvious answer.
“I’ll clean up,” Reagan blurted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make such a mess, but Em wanted to help—you have something on your nose.” She tapped her own nose, hiding a smile.
My face heated as I wiped my hand over my nose and mouth, ridding it of all the frosting. I quickly rinsed my hands before turning back toward her.
“Where did you get everything? We didn’t have all this.” I scrubbed my hand over my jaw, scanning the counters.
“I ordered groceries.” Reagan winced. “I should’ve asked. But when you didn’t come home for lunch, I assumed you were really busy and I didn’t want to bother you.”
I blinked at her. “You didn’t have to cook,” I said, and she dropped her eyes. “But thank you.” I tacked on, if only to get that sad look off her face. “I—I’m not used to this.” I laughed awkwardly as I ran my hand through my hair.
“Dinner?” Her dark brows pushed together, and I shook my head.
“Someone making me dinner.” Her eyes searched mine. She opened her mouth to say something, but Emma grabbed her arm, pulling her attention away. “I brought wine.”
Reagan glanced at me again, still looking like she wanted to say something. Instead, she just nodded and turned back toward Emma. As they plated the food, I grabbed the bottles and stuck them in the fridge, trying to ignore the way Emma laughed.
It made my chest ache. I didn’t know why having Reagan here seemed to pull her out of whatever spiral she’d been heading down the last year, but she was a different kid.
“Sit,” Reagan said, waving at me. “Your hovering is making me nervous.” She tried to laugh it off, but it was too tight to be a joke.
“May I get a drink?” I teased. She rolled her eyes as she nodded and turned her attention back to Emma, helping her scoop food onto a plate. As I passed her, I ran my hand along her lower back. She inhaled sharply, her body stiffening.
I hadn’t meant to do it, but it felt natural. It felt instinctual, like something inside meneededto touch her.
Or maybe it was all horseshit, and I was just deprived of touching a woman and was making every excuse I could to touch her.
I didn’t touch her on my way back.
I sat at the table and tried not to stare at Reagan as she helped Emma carry a plate toward me, her tongue sticking out in concentration. They slid the plate in front of me, and I cleared my throat.
“You don’t need to serve me,” I said, and Reagan shrugged.
“Not a big deal,” she muttered. “It’s easier than carrying all the dishes to the table.” Before I could say anything else, she was up and making her way back to the stove, Emma on her heels.
