“You’re a good dad, Jesse.” He grunts a sound—half laugh, half argument—but doesn’t open his eyes or speak. “I’m serious. My dad was a good dad and handled being a single dad as well as someone who never thought they’d be in that situation could, but I can tell you right now, if I snapped at him, he wouldn’t spend twenty minutes quietly talking to me in my room before bed. He would send me to bed and hope that we could move past it in the morning.”
I continue to stare at him, my eyes tracing over his face and the minor differences, signs that time has passed since the last time I let myself do this. There are a few light strains at his temples, just a few, and the lines beside his eyes are more prominent. His mustache sits above fine lines I know are from laughing, though I don’t know if I see that very often. That thought brings me back to that night, when his laugh nearly startled me, and I’m glad when his eyes open, his words distracting me from going down a path I can’t wander.
“I know. I know I’m a decent dad, trust me. I’m not that deluded or in need of a confidence boost. I just think it’s harder than I thought. I know how to handle a baby and a toddler, and an elementary school kid. But this is different. This is her turning into a woman. This is her trying to navigate hormones and attitudes and, God forbid, one of these days, boys. I don’t know how to do that. I’m ill-equipped, and I haven’t made a good enough effort to try and bridge that gap.”
“Your mom and Wren—” I try, but he shakes his head.
“I’m so grateful for both of them—really. I wouldn’t have made it this far without them, but they also see Emma as a baby. As a little kid. And I think that it gets to her, and I’ve been ignoring that. But honestly, she’s been better the past few days with you around.”
I shrug, not wanting to make him feel any worse than he already does.
“I’ve been like Emma in a way, so I think I understand her in a way your mom and Wren can’t really relate to. But also, I think eleven is just a very uncomfortable time, so no matter what, there are going to be ups and downs.”
“I think you came in at the perfect time. I’m grateful you’re here.”
His words have such sincerity that they settle in my chest, a warmth that stays with me even as I walk in the night air to my new place.
ELEVEN
I woke up early the next morning, and even though I should be exhausted, especially knowing the long day ahead, I’m not. When I roll out of bed, I notice there’s already almost an inch of snow on the grass, but it isn’t quite sticking to the driveway yet, and I send Hallie a text.
Head to my place when you’re ready—the snow’s only going to get heavier. If it gets too thick, I can clear the way to my place with the UTV
I’m not sure when she wakes up, but in case she’s an early riser, I move through my morning routine a bit quicker, brushing my teeth and getting dressed before heading to the kitchen to make coffee.
“Jesse?” Hallie’s voice calls quietly after the door clicks open and shut.
“Kitchen,” I reply in the same hushed tone from the kitchen, reaching for a mug and filling it.
“Morning,” she says, and when I look over my shoulder, I give her a soft smile that she returns.
“Morning. Want some coffee?” I tip my head toward the pot, and she nods fervently.
“Yes, please. I didn’t have any at the house. After the storm, I’m going to have to do a major restock at the store.”
I nod, having figured as much, then set a pale green mug on the counter before heading to the fridge. I hesitate for a moment, staring at the blue bottle, feeling silly, before I shake it away, grab it, and set it in front of Hallie.
“Yesterday, when I went to the store, I got that creamer you like. I wasn’t sure if you were able to grab it when you moved.”
She stares at it for a long moment before looking to me with confusion written on her face. “You got me my creamer?”
A blush burns on my cheeks before I turn away from her, reaching into the cabinet over the coffee maker for a thermal travel mug, wondering if this was possibly the weirdest, most creepy thing to do. I didn’t think much of it yesterday, just grabbing the bottle and tossing it in my cart, but maybe I should have thought a little more about it beforehand.
“I was already at the store when I saw it, and you’ve been here most mornings anyway. Seemed to be the least I could do.”
“How did you know what kind of creamer I like?”
I shrug, trying to seem as casual and unaffected as possible. “It’s always in Mom’s fridge, and you’re the only one who drinks it when you’re there.” I move back to the fridge, intentionally keeping my back to Hallie, grab the half-and-half, then pour some into my mug before returning to the coffee maker.
“Are you watching me?” she asks, teasing in her words as I screw the top on my mug.
Finally, I turn back to face her, leaning against the counter with one arm crossed on my chest, the other lifting my mug to my lips. “We’re friends, right? Friends do that.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can say anything, a familiar voice calls her name—my saving grace in the form of a sleepy eleven-year-old.
“Morning, Hallie!” Emma says, and Hallie turns to her, pulling her into her side. The sight of them settles somewhere in my chest, keeping me warm the entire day.
Throughout the day, I get numerous updates from Hallie and Emma on their progress as they unpack Hallie’s place, then go back to ours and make cookies. The snow continues to fall, with it stopping long enough around dinner time to plow most of the town before it starts back up. By the time I make it back to the farm, it’s coming down again, and I text Hallie to put Emma to bed at her normal time, since I won’t be home until late. I offer to send my mom over to stay with Emma, but Hallie refuses, so when I get home long after nine, she’s sitting on my couch, the lights all dimmed, and watching some movie.
