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“I did too much, didn’t I?” I pick up a few of the paint kits and put them back in the bag. I always do too much. My mom used to tell me all the time to choose just one project and see it through before I begin another. I should have chosen one or two small crafts to see how Allie liked them, not one from each aisle.
“No,” he finally says, reaching to still my hands as I hastily pack the crafts back into the bag. “No, yes. It’s fine, it’s more than fine.” He loosens his grip, but keeps his palms resting on my hands, his thumb slowly sweeping back and forth over my skin. “My family is great; they do what they can. But my sister is busy with her crazy boys, and my parents are gone on vacation half the time. When we get together, it’s always a ton of people and so crazy no one gets one-on-one time with her.” He reaches an arm up to squeeze the back of my neck, slightly pulling me toward his large frame. “You being here, giving her that attention, thinking of all the things she would love to do, and working to make them happen?” His eyes glaze over for a second and he clears his throat roughly, his grip on my neck releasing as he pulls away. “It means a lot to me, Jenna. I hope you know that. And it will mean more to Allie.” He steps back, taking my cup back to the carafe and adds another dash of hot coffee to it.
I’m sure it didn’t go cold in the few minutes we were looking through all the stuff I bought, but something tells me he needed a little space.
Space isn’t something we’ve been giving each other lately. If I’m not at work or spending a day hanging out with Meg, I’m here with Emmett and Allie. I’ll come early in the morning before she’s up, and often not leave until she goes to bed. Sometimes I’ll stay later, relaxing on the couch with Emmett, watching nothing on TV but more engrossed in conversation. Our touches have been lingering, too. A hand on my shoulder here, the brush of our knees there. Sometimes our bodies touch and both of us take notice but neither of us move. The heat builds between us, the pressure of knowing we both might feel something again, but neither will be the first to acknowledge what’s going on. And it won’t be long before that dam breaks.
He slides the coffee cup over to me, and I take it between my palms, letting the heat from the cup warm my shaking hands.
“It’ll be nice for her to have you once she gets older, when she needs someone to talk about hormones and boys with. I’m doing the best I can as a single dad, and I’ll go buy her tampons or take her bra shopping, but having to explain to her how to use them terrifies me.”
Now I’m the one that can’t speak. It’ll be well over ten years before Allie starts to go through that. Is he really thinking that he will still have me in his life in ten years? That he won’t meet someone he wants to be with, and our friendship will fizzle once again as she takes the place of the woman in Allie’s life?
He looks at the second bag we haven’t unloaded. “What’s in there?”
“Oh,” I take a step back, setting the mug down and raising my hands up in a warning. “Before you panic, let me explain.”
His brows immediately furrow, and he stands up tall, side-eyeing the bag, probably wondering if I have a hamster or iguana in there that he now has to take care of.
“I’m cooking you guys, dinner.”
His face that once was full of adoration instantly falls. He’s probably wishing itwasa reptile in the bag instead of having to stomach my cooking.
“But before you say anything, I think I can do this one. I found a recipe that’s chicken and three other ingredients in a crock pot, you don’t have to stir! Then you boil noodles to add. The crock pot cooks it so I won’t burn it, and I can boil noodles. It’s highly unlikely either of you will get food poisoning.” Most nights boxed pasta and jarred sauce make up my dinner, so this is the next step up. “Allie likes chicken, right?”
He nods.
“It’ll be easy, you’ll love it.” I turn back to the table, taking in the mess in front of me, wondering which craft Allie will want to do first. I take a sip of the coffee, reveling at how fresh and perfect it tastes before realization hits me. “Follow-up question,” I say, setting my cup on the counter with a clink. “Do you have a crock pot?”
~
“More?” Allie asks, looking up at me with her almond-shaped eyes.
I look around at our makeshift castle that encompasses the entire living room, complete with a tunnel around the back of the sofa. I have torn this house apart finding every single quilt, throw blanket, and sheet Emmett owns, and we have every bar stool and dining room chair pulled into the living room to make the ultimate blanket fort. We had our lunch in the main quarters of the castle, took a two-hour nap snuggled together in the tunnel, and had our afternoon snack sitting outside the “front gates.”
I peer down at her and smile, loving how the color of her eyes matches perfectly with the shades in her Elsa dress. “I think that’s as big as we can make the castle, sweetie. Should we go inside?”
“Yes!” she squeals, pulling away one of the slabs of cardboard and tossing it to the side.
I hope Emmett doesn’t mind the mess, but when I found the pile of cardboard in the recycling bin, I dug through until I found a box big enough to cut in half, and with a sharpie wrote“The castle of Queen Allie”in big block letters, signifying our gate.
She crawls inside first, and I follow, turning around to close the cardboard gate in time to hear the front door shut and the rustle of Emmett shucking his work boots and heavy coat. I turn to Allie and am about to tell her Daddy’s home and that we should go say hi, when she holds her finger up to her mouth and whispers, “Daddy home, hide.”
It crosses my mind for a second—a hot second—that maybe Emmett won’t be as easy going as he once was. I’m sure he’s exhausted, cold, hungry, and that he had to park on top of a haphazard pile of cardboard in the garage when he pulled in. Allie isn’t my child, and I’m not a parent yet, and yes, I could imagine how exhausting it would be to work all day and come home to a messy house, but I still believe nothing is as important as quality time playing with your kids.
I can feel my blood starting to percolate and am about to unleash Hurricane Jenna if he so much as thinks about telling hernot nowand commenting on the mess. But then Allie pops up through the cardboard, snickering and says, “Daddy, I'm hiding.”
I peek out of a small gap in the blankets and see Emmett standing by the kitchen island, his thick gray sweatshirt and beanie still on. He’s filtering quickly through a stack of mail in his hand but smiling ear to ear at the sound of Allie’s voice.
He tosses the mail on the counter, then tugs the beanie off his head and adds it to the pile. He slides a hand through his disheveled hair, and it’s clear by the bags under his eye that his energy is depleted. The long days paired with cold weather, not to mention being a single parent takes a toll. He reaches both hands over his head to grab the neck of his hoodie, tugging it off in one swipe, catching the hem of his tee with it. I get a glimpse of his bare back and thick stomach, dark hair sprinkling down and disappearing into the waist of his jeans. I clench my legs together, hoping Allie doesn’t catch me perving on her dad from a few feet away.
There’s something so rugged about Emmett these days. Maybe it’s because I’ve only dated men who are in a similar field as mine, usually surgeons if Meg has her choosing. They’re wealthy, cocky, confident men who dress nice and preen over their accessories.
But I’m realizing now there is something about a blue-collar man. One that gets up before dawn, works outside braving all the elements, not having the luxury to call in or play hooky when the weather is crummy because people are counting on them. And after a full day's work, he comes home and steps immediately into his fatherly role.
I think I’ve found my newest fetish.
He tosses his sweatshirt on the kitchen counter and turns toward the living room, fully taking in the expanse of our castle for the first time with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He gets down on all fours, face suddenly serious and prowls his way toward the castle doors. Allie stands and immediately runs to hide behind me while muttering, “Tickle monster.”
