My heart does a little flip. “I don’t think that would be weird at all, sweetheart. I think that would be amazing. If that’s something you want to try, we can definitely look into it.” I smile, glancing sideways at her. “You know Grant would probably be happy to talk to you a bit about what it was like for him when he started playing if you ask him about it.”
She lights up, looking slightly awed. “Do you think so?”
“Absolutely,” I confirm, and she grins out the window.
The next few minutes are mostly quiet, now that April has apparently exhausted the trove of fun things she’d been waiting all weekend to tell me, and I feel a familiar, fierce protectiveness when I glance over at her again. This beautiful girl—my sweet, innocent daughter—has been through so much in her short life. The divorce, the move, the instability, the issues at school. But she’s still so full of joy and curiosity and hope.
I’ll do anything I can to protect that part of her. To keep her safe and happy and secure.
Which is exactly why keeping things quiet with Grant is the right decision, no matter how much it might complicate things between us. April’s well-being comes first, always.
“Mom?” Her sweet voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Yeah, honey?”
“Are you okay? You look so serious all of a sudden.”
I push those thoughts aside and force a smile. “I’m fine, sweetheart. I was just thinking about how much I love you.”
“I love you too.” She says it so easily and in such a matter-of-fact way, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
And just like that, my heart is full again.
We pull into the driveway, and April grabs her bag and shoots out of the car the instant I put it in park, leaving me in the dust as she races toward the front door.
“April, wait for me!” I call out, but she’s already inside.
By the time I make it through the door, she’s found Grant in the living room and is talking a mile a minute about pizza dough on the ceiling and face masks and staying up past midnight.
Grant is listening with that serious expression he always has, but I can see the hint of amusement in his eyes. “Wow, it sounds like you had a good time, huh?”
“The best time! And Aunt Margo taught me about her job, and next time we go to a game she’s going to—oh, hold on.” She reaches up to pull her hair back, clearly about to launch into another story, but her hand comes up empty. “Mom, do you have a hair tie?”
Grant is on the move before I can even reach for my purse. He walks over to the side table by the couch and pulls open a small drawer, retrieving one of April’s hair ties—the ones with the little stars on them that she loves. He hands it to her without a word.
“Thanks, Grant!” She takes it and quickly pulls her hair into a ponytail before continuing with her story about Aunt Margo’s job.
My stomach flips as I watch the casual, easy way he interacts with her. How he doesn’t think twice about jumping in and solving a problem, no matter how big or small. He’s been paying attention. He knows which drawer has her hair ties and which ones she prefers.
They definitely share a bond, and that’s a big deal to me.
I fooled myself into thinking it would be so easy to keep things compartmentalized and straightforward, to hook up with Grant from time to time while pretending things are completely normal whenever April is around.
But watching him now and seeing how naturally he fits into both of our lives, I already know that nothing about this is going to be simple.
“Speaking of games,” Grant says, glancing over at me before looking back at April. “I have one on Thursday night. A home game.”
April’s eyes light up immediately. “Can we go, Mom? Please, please, please?”
There’s just enough of a smile playing on Grant’s lips to tell me everything he isn’t saying out loud.
He wants us there. Both of us. Genuinely.
My heart does that annoying fluttering thing it’s been doing all weekend, and I know I’m in trouble.
“Of course we can go.” I’m answering April, but my eyes are still on Grant. “We wouldn’t miss it.”
The smile on his face gets just a little bit wider, and I have to look away before April notices.
