I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I kept my voice light. “Is this your mom?” I asked in a gentle tone.
Zoya nodded, her grip on the black crayon so hard her little knuckles had turned white.
Poor thing was a ball of stress. I flipped the pages of my sketchpad until I found what I was looking for. “This is mymami,” I said, showing her a drawing of my mother laughing. “This is her laughing at something one of my ridiculous brotherssaid or did. I have four brothers in total but one is no longer with us, and they’re always doing silly things.”
She couldn’t look away, so interested in every detail it practically vibrated off her delicate shoulders.
“She makes the best tortillas, fresh every single day. And she gives the best hugs.” I watched her study the details with her head slightly tilted as if she had a million questions but no way to ask them.
“She’d love to meet you, I’m sure. She’s always hounding my brothers about giving her grandchildren because she loves little kids. Maybe…” I paused, hesitating for only a second. “Maybe we can go to my family restaurant for tacos. You like tacos, don’t you? I mean I thinkeverybodyloves tacos.”
Zoya lit up with a real smile that went all the way up to those gorgeous hazel eyes.
“I guess that means it’s a date.” I held up my hand and without hesitation, she smacked my palm with hers.
It was another win that I accepted with an easy smile. In an effort to lighten the mood, I closed my sketchpad. “How would you feel about doing a different type of art?”
She blinked once, slowly.
I accepted that as interest. “Have you ever done fingerpainting before? I used to do it all the time when I was younger, and I loved it because it’s messy and all about colors.”
Zoya thought about it for a long minute before nodding her approval.
I set up easels on the back porch once our clothes were covered with oversized smocks, and we spent more than an hourlost in the spectrum of colors. We ate an early dinner before retiring to her room with a giant picture book that she pretended to read.
She was still there when her father arrived home, gruff, dirty, and still wearing that perpetual frown he wore like armor. I stood at the sink cleaning art supplies, while his boots sounded on the way to Zoya’s room. “Hey,” I said, minutes later when I felt his presence behind me in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he grunted out. “How’d it go today?”
“Zoya had a good day today,” I began, drying my hands as I turned to face him. I told myself not to poke the bear. Tonight he had that storm cloud energy that said any disturbance in the atmosphere could turn it into a full-blown storm. I should’ve listened to the alarm bells, but I needed to talk to him about what Zoya drew.
I watched Sledge carefully, noticing the exhaustion that outlined his eyes and mouth. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded, scrubbing one hand over his face as he dropped down into the nearest chair. “Yeah, long day.”
“Do you have a minute to talk?” I asked. I figured he’d be more amenable to conversation if I fed him, so I grabbed the broccoli mac and cheese from the oven and set it in front of him.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said, accepting the fork with a half-smile. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I sighed, taking the seat across from him. “Zoya and I were chatting today about mothers. Mineandhers.”
His brows shot up. “She told you about her?”
I nodded. “A little. Well, she drew her. Blonde. Thin. Red eyes.” I hesitated. “I’m not trying to pry, but I need to know if there’s anything I should be aware of. Something that might upset her if I bring it up.”
“Trish won’t be around,” he snapped, his brows so pinched I thought his face might crack. “So you don’t need to worry about it.”
I bit back the sigh that crawled up my throat. Sledge was instinctively defensive, his responses sharp and impossible. “I’m really not trying to get in your business, Sledge. But something made your daughter stop talking. I don’t want to stumble into it by accident. So if you don’t want to tell me details, just tell me if there’s any reason bringing up her mother might upset her?”
His nostrils flared, I thought he was about to shout, but instead he said quietly. “Let it go.”
I stared at him and he stared back. I don’t know how long we sat there, locked in a stare that refused to free either of us. I didn’t blink and neither did he. The tension in the room was so tight it was like another presence. Finally I threw my hands up in frustration. “Fine. You win, Sledge. See you tomorrow.” I pushed away from the table, said a quick goodbye to Zoya, and grabbed my things before heading out for the night.
As I walked to my car, the night air was crisp and cool, and much calmer than I felt. My shoulders dropped and I let out a long breath.
God that man was so infuriating!
He was stubborn and aloof, but there was no doubt that he loved his daughter. Even though he tried to hide it from everyone but Zoya, it was clear in the way he looked at her,the warmth in his eyes, and that almost smile that constantly touched his lips when they shared the same space. He loved her and he was terrified to dig deeper and find out what had caused her to stop talking.
