Not just a little peck. Oh, no. This is one of those deep, panty-melting kisses. The kind that makes you forget you just agreed to take a four-year-old’s life into your hands.
What was I worried about again?
When he finally gives me a moment to breathe, I’m so flustered I can’t think straight. I lick my lips, tasting the salty biscuits and gravy he had been picking at before I volunteered myself as tribute.
“Sorry,” he says, sitting back down on the other side of the couch. “I didn’t mean to assault you there. I’m just so excited.”
I force a grin and wink at him. “Hey, now, you never have to apologize for hugging or kissing me. Those are always welcome.” I bite into my own breakfast, taking a moment to savor the amazing flavors he always manages to bring to the table. “So, for Hailey’s bedtime, you’ll, like, write it all down, right?”
Micah chuckles. “Don’t worry. It’s pretty easy. Make sure she gets a bath, brush her hair, make sure she brushes her teeth, and I’ve got a whole stack of bedtime books next to her bed for you to read her something. No sweat.”
I look over at Hailey, who is enthusiastically waving one of Cleo’s ribbon toys in front of the cat. Cleo, of course, being a cat, is ignoring any attempts at bonding.
“What about her braids? I don’t know how to do that.”
“Oh, I’ll teach you. We’ll show you an easy one, and you can just do that while I’m gone. Nothing too complex. No French braids or anything.”
I’m dubious about my ability to learn, but as promised, Micah sits down with me after he finishes cleaning up from breakfast and demonstrates a simple three-strand braid. He starts with Cleo’s ribbon toy, showing me how the strands weave around each other, then he brushes out Hailey’s braids to show me on his daughter. Finally, he takes out the braid he just did and scoots aside so I can try.
Okay, here goes. Left over right—wait! Middle first. Thenunderright. But now the right is the middle. And the middle is the left … Shit! Where was I?
It’s a little nerve wracking having him watch my every move, but I somehow manage to accomplish a lumpy braid on my first try. It almost comes apart when I remove one hand to take the hair tie from Micah to secure it. Eventually, I get the end wrapped, and I sit back for Micah’s critique.
“It’s … a braid,” he says after a long pause.
Hailey turns to me with her nose wrinkled. “It feels funny.”
“Did I pull it too tight? Does it hurt your head?”
She shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t hurt. It just feels funny. Not like when Daddy does it.” She turns to Micah. “Daddy, are you sure you teached her right?”
“It’s just going to take practice, that’s all. Daddy didn’t do such a good job his first time trying, remember?”
My shoulders slump in defeat. “I screwed it up.”
“No!” Micah rubs my arms and gives them a squeeze. “No, it’s fine. It’s just … a little uneven. That’s all. Like I said, you just need practice. Here. We’ll do it again. You need to get a feel for the tension. If you hold the strands evenly, it won’t have these lumps.”
“I have lumps?” Hailey pouts.
“Not for long, baby.” With deft fingers, he undoes my damage and finger-combs her curls into submission. “Here, Iris. I’ll show you again.”
We spend most of the morning practicing braiding until I get enough of a handle on it that I’m not so worried about tangling the dickens out of Hailey’s hair every day while Micah’s gone. By the time we’re done, she’s got a nice, straight, sort-of-even braid that doesn’t “feel funny.” I’m calling that a win.
Since Micah has to pack and get things ready for me, he doesn’t stay the whole day. After a brief lunch of simple sandwiches, he takes Hailey home.
Day after tomorrow, he leaves. Day after tomorrow, I’m responsible.
Chapter 12
Micah
My stomach is about ninety percent knots when we leave Iris’s. I know she volunteered, but I feel terrible for throwing so much responsibility in her lap on such short notice.
I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust to watch Hailey, though. Even though she doesn’t have any kids of her own, even though there are other parents in the neighborhood who I might have asked, Iris is the only one I’m willing to leave her with.
Packing doesn’t take too long. Not nearly as long as it used to take when I went on vacation with Lisa. That woman would bring the kitchen sink if she thought the airport would check it. I chuckle to myself as I remember the baggage fees we racked up through the years. We probably gave more than one baggage handler a hernia.
My laughter turns to a spattering of tears when I finish. Looking at the half-empty suitcase, I realize it might never be full again.
