I roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“Only when invited.”
I wipe the counter, then glance at him. “You didn’t have to come help today.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply.
That’s becoming a pattern.
By the time Daisy gets off the bus that afternoon, the café is quiet again. She bursts through the door like a small hurricane, backpack thumping against her side.
“Mom!” she calls. Then she spots Brendon and skids to a stop. “You’re still here!”
He crouches automatically, arms opening. “Hey, kiddo.”
She launches herself into him without hesitation. He catches her easily, laughter bubbling out of him like it belongs there.
My chest tightens.
She pulls back, holding up a paper triumphantly. “I finished my project!”
“That was fast,” I say.
“I worked on it all weekend,” she replies proudly. “I added an ending.”
She turns to Brendon, eyes shining. “Do you want to see?”
“Absolutely.”
They sit at one of the tables, heads bent together, Daisy pointing animatedly at her pages. I busy myself behind the counter, pretending not to watch.
I fail.
Brendon listens like every word matters. He nods, asks questions, praises her spelling. When she finishes, he smiles at her with something dangerously close to awe.
“This is incredible,” he says. “You did such a good job.”
Daisy beams. “I want to read you the last part.”
“Okay.”
She clears her throat dramatically.
“‘My hero is brave and kind,’” she reads, “‘and he makes people feel safe. He saved me and he helps my mom and he makes us laugh.’”
I swallow hard.
Then she looks up at him and smiles, soft and unguarded. “I like when you’re here, Dad.”
The word lands like a gunshot.
The café goes utterly still.
Brendon freezes.
I stop breathing.
Daisy blinks, confused by the sudden silence. “What?”
