He chuckles and holds up a page. “I like how she drew me as a hedgehog in a top hat.”
“And the girls are both little bunnies.” I don’t miss the faint sheen of tears in his eyes. “I’ll bring them to visit so you can read it to them.”
“Good. That’ll be good.” Wiping his eyes, Dad sets the book down. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. No man dreams of meeting his grandbabies in prison.”
“We’ll make the best of it.” I try to come up with something cheerful to say. “At least I’m able to bring gifts now. I couldn’t have brought you a book back in medium security.”
“Small blessings,” he murmurs, clearing his throat. “How are you feeling, Honeybun?”
“Good. Really good.” I rest a hand on my belly. “Want to feel your granddaughter kick?”
My father’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Give me your hand.” Catching my father’s wrist, I guide it to the spot where somebody’s tap dancing in utero. “They’re always really active after lunch.”
“You were the same.” His eyes fill with wonder as my belly ripples under his palm. “Your mom always wanted grilled cheese. Whenever I made it, you’d twirl around in there like you’d just won the lunchtime lottery.”
“I didn’t know that.” I swallow the lump in my throat, wishing my mother shared more stories like this. “I still love grilled cheese. But rambutan and tater tots—that’s what I’ve mostly been craving.”
Chuckling, my dad keeps his hand on my belly. He glances at the guard who stands by the window watching us. “Would they have allowed this back in medium security?”
“Probably not.” Yet another upside of having Dad transferred here. “You’ve settled in all right?”
“As well as I can.” Dad draws his hand back to the table in front of him. His knuckles look wrinkled, and I notice some age spots that weren’t there last year. “The bedrolls still make it feel like I’m sleeping on bricks, and the food…” He trails off with a shudder. “Let’s just say I miss family dinner.”
It’s been years since Dad was invited. Even before he wound up in prison, his choices forced the others to wipe his name off the guest list.
“I’ve hosted a few times now,” I say, trying to keep things cheerful. “I did Thanksgiving dinner, and last week I made this amazing pulled pork.”
Dad looks surprised. “When did you learn to make that?”
“Luke taught me.” If I float it there casually, it’s not a big deal. “I’m becoming quite the cook.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yep.” This feels awkward. I get why he might not approve of Luke. I didn’t exactly sing his praises the day I told Dad I’m pregnant. Since then, I’ve gently eased my father into the idea that I’m dating the ex-con father of my children. “We bought a cookbook with recipes for making your own baby food. We did a few practice runs last week, but it’ll be awhile until the girls eat solid food.”
“That’s nice.” The clench in his jaw says he’s got something to say.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He forces a smile. “I’m just happy to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.” I wince as one of the babies whacks me in the kidney. “They’re more active than normal. Maybe they like hearing Grandpa’s voice.”
His smile seems wistful and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can you tell which twin it is?”
“Not really.” I chuckle. “I mean, I have my theories, but there’s no way to tell for sure. And we’re still deciding on names?—”
“We?” My dad lifts a brow. “You’re letting him weigh in on their names?”
“Of course.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice light. “He’s their father. Obviously I want him to have a say.”
He sighs. “I was hoping you’d put all that behind you by now.”
“All that?” I blink. “Do you mean Luke?”
“Surely you’re not seriously planning a relationship with that man.” He frowns. “I understood your urge for the shock value, Hazel. I can even admit I deserved it. I pushed you to act out.”
