Hank’s face splits with laughter. Maise frowns in confusion. And me? I stand there dumbfounded, only just realizing he’s been messing with me this entire time.
“Someone has a thing for the pretty little artist who’s been helping us,” Hank whispers as he leans in like it’s a huge conspiracy.
That pretty little artist is your damn daughter, bud.It would be funny otherwise. It would be appropriate, maybe, if I didn’t feel like I was stealing candy canes from an old man—straight out of his Alzheimer-ridden hands.
“Nah, just didn’t get much sleep last night.” I run a hand through my hair.
Hank’s face says it all. I’m not fooling anyone.
Much less myself.
Maybe it’s a good thing Hank’s got no clue. If he did...
It’s unknown territory for me, this disease of his. And I’m glad Celeste has a little fire in her, or this new phase of her life would be much harder.
Maise sinks to the floor by the feet of the frame, her screwdriver with a pink glittery handle in her hand. She’s been helping me for a while now and insisted on her own tools.
I watch as she sticks her tongue out one side of her mouth, screwing the metal plate of the wheel into the pine two-by-four. One little hand works the tool, the other holding the hardware in place as she sinks all four screws into place before tightening them in turn.
Hank groans, his hand slipping as he kneels over the frame, the caster wheel in his other hand.
Shit.
I drop down beside him and hold the wheel in place as he secures it to the frame. When all four are attached, we manhandle the frame back onto its feet and stand back.
“Looking great, boss.” Hank slaps my back.
I chuckle.
He’s good company, despite his memory being shot. And I imagine when he was fully cognitive, he was a hell of a guy.
“That looks wonderful,” a light voice says.
I turn back to find CC, her face streaked with blue paint, paintbrush still in hand. A wisp of hair has slipped from her ponytail, sticking to her cheek with the same blue hue.
“Thanks. How’s the scenery coming along?”
“All done. Just a little cleanup left now.”
“You could say that.” I can’t help the grin that blooms as her face falls and tightens with a self-conscious look. I lean in and brush the strand of hair from her face. “Blue looks good on you.”
“Huh.” She dips her head, a blush coloring her cheeks.
“Daddy, can we go? I’m starving.” Maise brings me back to reality, hands on hips, gaze swinging between me and Celeste.
“Sure, kiddo. Pack up your tools.”
She skips back to her workspace and packs her things in her pink tool belt. When she was a baby, she would come on-site with me, pink hard hat and all. Wasn’t a contractor on-site not affected by her cute little mug. The hard hat still sits in her cupboard, but now she’s upgraded to the tool belt, and I couldn’t be more proud of her.
“Actually, Maise,” Celeste says, getting her attention. “Would you be free tonight to help me with the tree?”
Celeste presses her hands together in a pleading gesture, using my daughter’s favorite tool of manipulation against her.Touché.
Maise shoulders her tool belt and comes to my side. “Sure, CC. I can help you out. How’s seven sound?”
I chuckle as Celeste’s eyebrows raise toward her hairline before she flattens her smile and simply says, “Sounds perfect, see you then.”
“Yep, it’s a date.” Maise winks at her.
