The next night, I managed to convince her to stay for dinner with the help of Emma’s pleading. After we’re finished eating, I clean up while she helps Emma pick out an outfit for school the next day, but when she steps out and tells me she’s going to head home, I nod. Confusion and surprise cross her face—she’s clearly expecting me to argue, which only tells me she doesn’t realize my game yet.
“I’ll walk you home,” I say, calling out to tell Emma what I’m doing, and pleased with the fact that Hallie doesn’t argue at all anymore, instead just moving to the mudroom to get her shoes and jacket on.
“Hallie,” I murmur when we’re halfway to her place, tipping my chin to the woods to see the deer again.
“Jane Doe! How are you?” Hallie says as if she’s an old friend. When the deer approaches with zero trepidation, bumping her snout into Hallie’s hand, I can’t help but shake my head. Only Hallie would make friends with a motherless doe.
Since that day in the woods, I’ve wondered if Hallie and her deer share some kind of kinship, and the more I think about it and see them together, the more I realize the answer is absolutely yes.
Hallie murmurs and chats with the animal for about a minute before Jane hears something, breathes out a noise that is alarmingly close to a goodbye, and walks off.
“Does that happen often?” I ask once the deer is out of sight and once Hallie moves back to me.
“She comes to my place for snacks. I got her a salt block. We’re friends,” she says as we start to walk. I let out a small laugh and shake my head, but my chest freezes when our hands bump. With the move, she looks up at me, gives me a tiny, hesitant tilt of her lips, then twines her fingers with mine.
I walk as slowly as I can, wanting to devour the moment, and when we get to her door, I do the same as the night before: a long hug, a kiss to her cheek, and wishing her goodnight.
On Tuesday, Emma convinces Hallie to stay for a movie, and Hallie puts up even less of an argument than she has in the past. It’s getting easier to convince her to spend time here, and I wonder if I’m already weakening her walls just a bit, or if she’s falling back into comfortable habits.
One movie turns into two, and there’s an hour or so left before I send Emma to bed. Once the house is quiet and Emma is in her room, I sit back down on the couch and pat the seat next to me. Hallie eyes it skeptically.
“I should go,” she says.
I lift an eyebrow at her. “You’re going to make me finish this movie alone?”
“You don’t have to?—”
“How else am I going to know how their Italian internship goes?” She stares at me like she’s not buying it before rolling her eyes and sitting again, but unlike when Emma was here, when she sat on the complete opposite side, my daughter between us, Hallie sits a mere foot from me on the couch. I smile to myself.
Ten minutes later, I move, closing the gap between us, looping an arm around her shoulder, and pulling her into my side.
Ten minutes after that, she shifts, resting her head in my lap, and I run my fingers through her hair, watching her eyes flutter shut as a pleased sigh leaves her lips.
If this were all I got from her for a lifetime, I could be okay with it, but when she speaks after a bit, I know we’re easing our way toward more.
“When you said you’d wait…” she starts, then hesitates, unsure of how to continue, but I don’t speak or pressure her. My fingers keep moving slowly, waiting for her to finish, and eventually she does. “When you said you’d wait, what did you mean?” I respond with no hesitation.
“I meant that I know in my heart of hearts that you’re exactly what I need. What Emma needs. Whatweneed. And I know we’re what you need. But I’m not in a rush to make that happen, so I’ll wait, Hallie.”
She doesn’t speak again, but she doesn’t have to. When I walk her to the door that night, she stands before me, head tipped back, almost like she’s waiting for a moment, waiting for me to make a move.
To kiss her, I realize.
I don’t.
Instead, I hug her and press a soft kiss to her cheek.
The flash of disappointment that crosses her face feels like the biggest win yet.
This goes on for two more nights before she gets brave. On Friday, when I walk her home, she turns to glare at me, hand on her hips.
“Are you ever going to kiss me?”
I lift an eyebrow at her. “Are you saying you’re ready for me to kiss you?”
A blush burns bright on her cheeks. She hesitates, but not for long.
“I mean, a goodnight kiss would be nice.”
