My chest tightens, this is the kind of moment that should feel harmless, but it doesn’t, it’s too easy, too comfortable, and that throws me.
Maisie hands her a cookie. “This one needs sprinkles and a heart in the middle. Because this whole town is about hearts.”
Charlotte nods seriously. “Of course it is.”
I lean against the counter and try to look like I’m not watching every second of this. I should go back to work. I have invoices to tend too and orders to organize. Instead I stay right where I am, because watching Charlotte help my daughter decorate cookies affects me more than I want to admit.
She notices me looking and gives me that warm little smile, and just like that my pants tighten
“Want to join us?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I am better at the oven part, not the decoration part.”
Maisie snorts. “He is not good at frosting. He makes it too bloppy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Bloppy?”
She nods firmly. “Yes. Bloppy.”
Charlotte tries not to laugh. “I think bloppy frosting has charm.”
“It does not,” Maisie says with the seriousness of a critic who has seen too much. “Daddy needs practice.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to breathe. “Thank you for the feedback.”
The two of them start decorating, and I hover a few steps away, pretending I’m checking supplies even though I’m not checking anything.
Maisie hands Charlotte a piping bag. “You squeeze gently. Like this.” She demonstrates on air.
Charlotte copies her motion with exaggerated care. “Like this?”
Maisie nods. “You are good at this.”
Charlotte’s cheeks warm. “I had a good teacher.”
Maisie straightens, clearly proud.
I clear my throat. “I should probably go finish my inventory.”
Charlotte looks at me, and there it is again, that pull I can’t seem to shake. It settles deeper every time our eyes meet.
“You can stay,” she says lightly. “If you want.”
It’s casual and friendly, but her voice is soft in a way that sends my pulse into overdrive
“I can stay a minute,” I say.
Maisie grins triumphantly. “Daddy likes cookie time.”
“I never said that.”
“You look like you do.”
I exhale. “You cannot just tell people what my face is doing.”
“Yes I can,” she says cheerfully. “I live with it.”
Charlotte laughs, trying to cover her mouth while she does. When she tilts her head, a strand of hair falls loose near her cheek.
