“Food’s ready,” I tell them.
Emily puts her chalk back in the box and looks down at her hands.
“Can I wash my hands, please?” she asks.
“Sure. There’s a step stool in the bathroom down the hall if you need it,” I tell her.
“I’ll take her.” Tanner volunteers.
As I set the food on the table, Jane watches the kids head inside.
“You good?” I ask, pulling her attention back to me.
As fucked up as it is, I want her attention on me, at least when we’re alone.
“I am. I appreciate you making dinner for us.”
“It’s my pleasure. We all have to eat,” I tell her.
She tilts her head to the side and studies me. “Do you like cooking?”
“I’m a man, and I like to eat,” I tell her, making her laugh. “Do I like it? Not necessarily, but I don’t mind it. I like knowing what I’m putting in my body. Don’t get me wrong. If you open my fridge, you will find more takeout containers than I’m happy about, but I like cooking when I have the time. What about you? Do you enjoy it?”
Her nose crinkles as she thinks about my question.
“I don’t know. I did when I was younger, but when E—I mean, he and I were together, he kind of killed my love for it. He was very particular about how things were done and would only eat certain things.”
She slipped. It’s not much, but knowing his name starts with an E is more than I had before.
EA—I file it away in case I ever need it.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me. I’ll eat pretty much anything,” I tell her.
I know it’s fucked up, but I can’t help but try to plant the seed. I want her to know that she never has to worry about that with me or anything else. That I’ll go with anything and never complain as long as I get to be with her and the kids.
Fuck, maybe Tank was onto something when he asked if I was claiming her all that time ago.
“Hands are clean!” Emily yells as they step outside.
“Emily, don’t yell,” Tanner scolds her.
“Why? It’s my outside voice,” she says, making me laugh.
I swear to God, I never know what will come out of her mouth.
“Come on, guys. Let’s dig in,” I tell them.
Emily comes over and sits next to me while Tanner sits next to Jane.
“Emily, you can sit next to me too, if you want,” Jane tells her.
Emily shakes her head. “No, thank you. I want to sit next to Mr. Mac.”
“You know you can just call me Mac, right? You don’t have to say Mr.,” I tell her as pride rushes through me.
She chose me.
Little Emily wanted to sit next to me—not her mother or brother, but me. I’m winning her over bit by bit.
