Good.
“Kitchen.” She waves a hand, sarcasm dripping from the gesture.
After helping Marie a few times, I know where it is. I walk down the hall and take the second left. I find my girl perched on a stool, dipping a cookie into a glass of milk.
“Oh hey, Daddy,” she says, beaming like she didn’t just give me the fright of a lifetime by disappearing from the house without a word.
“Something wrong with the cookies at home, Maise?” I fold my arms over my chest, and she returns the gesture as she tips up her chin.
“Nope. Celeste needed my help.”
The woman in question rounds the doorframe, clearing her throat.
I spin back to find her lips pursed together.
Oh, I see how it is.
My kid and the woman who can barely stand me are... teaming up on me?
“This true? Or did you just lure her here with cookies to mess with me, Celeste?”
It’s the first time I’ve called her by her first name, and her expression morphs from nonchalant to surprise before she has time to school it back. When my brows fall along with my patience, I turn back.
A hand catches my biceps. “No, it’s not her fault.”
Now, my brows are raised, my gaze falling to the fine hand that barely wraps halfway around my arm.
“Sorry, it was my fault. And for what it’s worth, Maiseywashelping me.”
There’s a beat that passes between us before she realizes her hand still grips my arm. When her fingers fall away, I glance between her and Maisey.
“I’ll see you at home in ten.” I give her my best dad-means-business face, and she nods, her mouth full of cookie and the glass gripped in her small hand.
“Sorry for scaring you, Daddy,” Maise says after swallowing the cookie down with a sip of milk.
I grunt and shake my head.
A parent’s worst nightmare is losing a kid. At least, it’s mine. Maise is my damn life. And I hers, whether it should be that way or not.
“I’ll walk her home,” Celeste says with a shy smile.
“You sure you can cross over into enemy territory and live to tell the tale?” I grind out, walking past her, my shoulder brushing hers.
I ignore the heat that lances with the tiniest of contact.
“I’ll stick it out. For Maisey.”
I huff a low sound that’s pure sarcasm with maybe a hint of amusement.Sure she will.
But the woman takes care of her father, which is no easy feat. And from all the stories I’ve heard in our short time here, both Hank and his family were the heart and soul of Grafton for a long time. Before they left for one reason or another.
I let the screen door slam behind me and trudge through the half-melted tide of snow back to the house. Maisey is good with people, and if she needs to come home, she will.
And besides, I can pretty much see them from my kitchen window. On that note, I find doing dishes more appealing than I should. Running water into the sink, I add dish detergent before swirling the hot water with my hand.
Over the snow-covered white picket fence, I see Maise and Celeste move about the kitchen. They huddle by the oven, peering into it like they’re looking for damn treasure...
When Celeste opens the door and Maisey hands her an oven mitt, she slides out whatever they were looking at and turns, dropping it on the counter.
