“That was harsh.”
“It was. I don’t think they really meant it. Mom cried for weeks after she left.”
“And she never contacted you guys again?”
“Not that I know of. I think Dad tried to find her when our grandmother passed, but he didn’t have any luck. After a while, we all just accepted it.”
“Accepted what?”
“Her absence,” she says, and I don’t miss the sadness behind the words.
“Well,” I say after a beat, “I know of one excited little girl who can’t wait to meet you.”
Her face brightens. “Me too. Here I thought, I was all alone in this world without any family left, and now I’m an aunt.”
“I’m real sorry about your parents and about Freya,” I tell her.
Her eyes glisten, but she beats back the tears. “Me too.”
We polish off the rest of the pizza and another round of sodas, then head outside after paying the bill. I rest my hand lightly on her back, guiding her to my truck.
And we walk straight into Charli and Shelby, climbing out of Cabe’s old pickup.
My chest aches the moment I see her. And I want to spill everything to her right then and there, but her expression stops me. I watch as her stunned eyes flit from mine to where my hand rests on Cheyenne.
Shit.
“Stormy,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “I—this is.”
I don’t even finish the sentence before she shakes her head and walks right past me. I catch the scent of jasmine lingering in the air. She doesn’t look back at me, but Charli does.
If looks could kill, I’d be laid out in the middle of Main Street.
Dammit.
Getting her to listen is gonna be tougher than I thought.
“Everything all right?” Cheyenne asks as she looks from me to the door Shelby just slipped into.
“Yeah.”
“Was that your girl?” she asks as we make it to my truck.
“Working on it,” I say, opening the passenger door.
She climbs in. “I think you’re gonna have to work harder.”
No truer words have ever been spoken.
We pull up to the curb in front of the church day care right on time.
The old white-washed brick fellowship building looks the same as it always has. I spent many a summer attending lock-ins in that building as a kid. It warms my heart that my little girl will grow up, having those same experiences.
I spot Ruby through the big front windows, sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor with a handful of crayons, her teacher kneeling beside her.
“Is that her?” Cheyenne asks softly.
“That’s her,” I say.
