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Dropping a kiss on her head, I said, “Good morning, Sam.”
She looked up, smiling. “Morning, Daddy.”
I greeted Sarah at the counter before scooping Harper up and sat her on the table. “Are you going to be my sous chef today?”
“A…soos chef?” she asked. “What’s that?”
“Sous with a ‘u.’ It means the person who helps me cook my recipe and improve it after a few years,” I grinned. “So, will you measure the flour and salt?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Harper nodded, her pigtails flying.
I plunked out a large bowl, and we got to measuring, dropping, and whisking away until I had the batter in the waffle maker and steaming away. “Hey, Sam, do you want to go fishing today after we go to the Petting Zoo?”
She looked up from her book, face falling. “I’ve got homework, a book report.”
Ah, that explained The Hardy Boys book. Opening the waffle maker lid, I removed the crispy brown waffle. “Want some help with that?”
“No.” She sighed while turning a page. “I’ve got it.”
“Well, I want to read it over when you’re done, and you will not say I can’t, missy.”
Sam shrugged. “Sure.”
I cracked ten eggs into a bowl and whisked the eggs while the butter melted in the skillet; Harper sat on the counter, swinging her purple legging-clad legs as she kept chatting…and chatting more. I didn’t know where Harper got that. It wasn’t from me. I was somewhere between a lock box and Fort Knox when it came to vocalizing my feelings, but if chatting was an Olympic sport, my little girl would have won gold.
I shared the fluffy eggs onto a platter and carried that one and the other piled with waffles to the dining table. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”
Harper looked down at me as we sat. “Daddy, are we missing something here?”
What did she mean? I looked down and then laughed. “So sorry, princess. Little idiot me forgot the orange juice. We must get our daily dose of vitamin C, haven’t we? Forgive me, your highness.”
Getting the juice, I poured our glasses. “Here we go.”
We were halfway through when Ella poked her head in. “Someone is here for you, John—”
As I looked up, Rayna was walking in, pink-faced. Again, she was wearing jeans with a loose, graphic tee this time. Her hair was down with soft waves cascading through her dark brown hair, and the touch of eyeshadow made her eyes pop so prettily. My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.
She stopped just inside the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“You aren’t—”
“Miss Everett.” Harper shot out of her seat to run over. “You’re here.”
Rayna nodded, then reached into her bag and pulled something out. “Yesterday, I gave your sister a diary, and I thought it was unfair, so I brought you one, too. And like your sister’s one, it had stickers.”
Harper smiled. “Thank you.”
By this time, I had gotten my stride and stood. “Hello, Miss Everett; please, take a seat.”
Her face held a little embarrassment. “I didn’t come to—”
“Don’t matter,” I grinned. “You stepped into a country home on a Sunday morning, and you are going to get fed, so stop refusing, or I’ll be liable to tie you down.”
Rayna’s head dropped, and she looked to the ground while a riotous red blush climbed up her cheek, threatening to take over. Even though I didn’t mean it that way, the idea of being tied down and teased by me was a total turn-on. Good to know.
“How do you like your waffles?” I asked, piling a few on a plate. “Butter, syrup, or fresh fruit?”
“Butter, please,” she replied, and when I looked at her, she smiled. “I’m a southern gal too, and I never refuse butter.”
