“Grab two bottles of water from the fridge and put them in your backpack,” I call after her, but she’s already thundering down the stairs.
At least her excitement for breakfast and the zoo has outweighed her irritation that I’m taking so long to get ready.
Pushing all my other thoughts aside, I throw myself into the task at hand, using every bit of nine-and-a-half minutes to finish getting dressed before I head downstairs.
The house is quiet except for the sound of cartoons coming from the TV in the family room, so I step into the kitchen and strain to listen at the top of the basement stairs.
Grant’s sports highlights are just barely loud enough to make out from up here, but that means he’s somewhere down there working through his morning routine.
I consider going down there to say goodbye, just with a casual wave and a mention that we’ll be out for the day.
It would be the polite thing to do, for sure.
But the memory of his face when he saw my scars flashes through my mind again, and I turn on my heel. The fewer opportunities we have to be alone together, to slip into those vulnerable moments that seem to happen so easily between us, the better.
At least for now, while I’m still figuring out how to be under the same roof without my heart doing strange things in my chest.
The zoo turns out to be a hit, and it seems like April is back to her animated, inquisitive self within a few minutes of being there.
It’s definitely a parenting win, which is a rare feeling these days. A fun day with my daughter has also turned out to be exactly what I’ve been needing, without a single care or worry about anyone or anything outside the zoo fences.
“What was your favorite part of the day?” I ask as we pull into Grant’s gated neighborhood.
She looks thoughtful, then stifles a yawn. It’s been a fun day, but a long one, and I doubt either of us will be awake for very long after dinner.
“I think seeing the elephants was my favorite part.”
I have to smile because of course the elephant enclosure was at the top of my list too. We spent almost an hour watching them and reading the various informational kiosks that were scattered around the exhibit.
She sits up straight in her seat and turns to me, her exhaustion seemingly forgotten for the moment. “Did you knowelephants can live up to seventy years? And the baby ones suck their trunks like human babies suck their thumbs?”
“I didn’t know that.” I glance over at her as we pull up in front of Grant’s house. Our house. Temporarily. Whatever. “Did you see one of the babies doing that?”
“No, but I read it on one of those signs.” She shrugs. “Maybe the ones we saw have already outgrown the trunk sucking stage.”
“Maybe.” I laugh, then wait for her to unbuckle and collect her things once I’ve cut the engine. “We’ll have to go back sometime soon and check in on them.”
“Yeah! Next weekend?”
“Well… we don’t have to figure out an exact date yet. We can make some plans later.”
That minor deflection seems to be good enough for now, and I follow behind her as she bounces up the driveway to the front door.
Grant is standing there waiting for us before we even make it up the walkway. He’s wearing jeans and a simple gray t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders, and it’s tempting to let my eyes wander over his biceps and the tattoos that are peeking out of his sleeves.
Way too tempting.
“Hey,” he says, meeting my eyes for a split second before shifting to April. “How was the zoo?”
“So good!” She launches into a detailed recap of the day, complete with sound effects from the sea lions and seals as he ushers us inside.
Grant listens with the patience of a saint, even offering the kinds of encouraging noises and applause at the right times—the kind of attention I wouldn’t expect from anyone outside our immediate family.
Only once we’re all inside and she hurries upstairs to put her backpack away does he turn to me and grin.
“Sounds like someone had a good time. How was it for you?”
“Good,” I nod. “Really good, actually. How about you? Did you have a relaxing day after your workout this morning?”
