She stretches again and stifles a yawn. “Is it weird that I’m nervous and excited for today, all at the same time?”
“That doesn’t sound weird at all to me. That’s probably how you should feel about something new and important.” I smooth her hair back from her face and tuck it behind her ears, just like I’ve been doing since she was practically a toddler. “Now tell me about the nervous part.”
She looks down and picks at the edge of the comforter for a moment before meeting my eyes again.
“What if the other kids think I’m weird? What if they’ve all been friends forever and don’t want to talk to the new girl? Or—or what if my teacher is mean?”
Knowing that my daughter is dealing with this sort of anxiety, and that I won’t be able to be right there by her side as she works through it today at school, makes my heart hurt in a way that I never fully understood until I became a parent.
And I don’t even know where all this fear is coming from. This is the little girl who used to think nothing of marching up to another kid on the playground to announce they were going to be best friends.
When did she start doubting herself like this?
“Sweetheart, look at me.” I wait until her eyes meet mine. “You are smart and funny and kind to everyone you meet. You know more about hockey than most adults. You can make anyone laugh, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. If the kids at your new school can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss. Not yours. Keep being yourself, and you’ll always be able to make new friends. I promise.”
I can see the hint of a smile. The first genuine smile so far this morning. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Not to mention,” I add with a smile of my own, “if anyone gives you trouble, you can always tell them you’re living with Grant Parker. That should shut them up pretty quickly.”
That gets a real laugh out of her, and I can finally see my bright, confident girl coming back out of her shell.
And that’s my cue that she’s fully awake and probably won’t fall right back to sleep the moment I leave her alone again.
“Come on.” I stand up and pull the covers back. “Grab a shower and get dressed, and I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you get downstairs, okay? Then we’ll make sure you have everything you need for today.”
She mumbles something about wanting to sleep in for a few more minutes, but I don’t fully leave the room until I’ve seen for myself that she’s up and out of bed.
The rest of the house is almost completely quiet as I head downstairs. The living room is dark but there’s a light on in the kitchen that keeps me from stumbling through the still-unfamiliar rooms. Somewhere else in the house, I can hear a TV—a hockey game, judging by the sounds—and I imagine Grant is probably already halfway through his morning routine.
Not that I have a clue what his morning routine is, but he just seems like the kind of guy who has put in half a day of training before most people have had their morning coffee.
Which is exactly what I need right now.
There isn’t enough confidence in the world for me to try to figure out the espresso machine at six-thirty in the morning, but there’s thankfully a smaller, simpler, regular coffee pot on the counter nearby, and it only takes a couple of minutes to hunt down a filter and some ground coffee from the cabinets overhead.
With the coffee brewing, I turn toward the fridge so I can get started on breakfast… and run face-first into a wall of muscle.
Bare muscle.
As in shirtless, muscular, tattooed man chest.
“Oh my goodness!” I jump nearly a foot into the air while Grant takes a step back and tries to keep me from losing my balance, turning this into an even more mortifying series of events.
He winces, then drops his hand once it’s obvious I still have both feet under me. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He’s in the process of pulling on a plain white tank top, and takes a wide path around me as he points to the refrigerator. “I swear I don’t mean to keep sneaking up on you like this. I was just finishing my workout and was gonna grab some juice and something to eat.”
“Oh, no worries. I mean, I should be the one apologizing.” I stop and take a breath, reminding myself that he keeps insisting April and I should feel comfortable here. I guess it’s time to put that to the test. “I was just making some coffee and wanted to get breakfast started before April comes down like a whirlwind of last-minute panic.”
As I talk, he turns toward the fridge and finishes pulling on his shirt, but not until after I get a good look at his muscular shoulders, biceps, and back. And the view from where I’m standing is nothing short of mouthwatering.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says again, still with his back turned. “I guess it’s going to take a day or two for my brain to catch up that I’m not the only one living here anymore.”
Not only is he surprisingly ripped underneath all those hockey pads—a fact I discovered last night in the sauna, even though I was trying my hardest not to stare—but he has more tattoos than I realized last night, with just as many across his upper back and shoulders as he has across his chest.
The sheen of sweat from his workout only makes the muscles and ink look more defined, and it takes me a moment to recover the thread of our conversation when he finally turns back to look at me again.
“Oh, right. Well, no need to apologize. We’re all still trying to figure things out here. I just appreciate how accommodating you’ve been. You’ve gone above and beyond anything I could’ve hoped for, seriously.”
“Good. Above and beyond is what I aim for.” He offers a slight grin that completely transforms his features from the ultra-serious, almost grumpy look he’s usually sporting. “I’d offer to help with breakfast, but I’m pretty useless in here unless you’re looking for yogurt, cereal, or a protein bar.”
