I stop in the doorway.
And I forget how to breathe.
Delaney is standing at the island, hair piled on her head in a messy knot that she probably shoved up with both hands. There’s flour on her cheek, on her jaw, even on the little bow of light brown hair at her temple.
Next to her, Sadie stands on a chair, apron swallowing half her body, arms sticky with batter, grinning ear to ear.
They’re baking.
Both of them, my daughter and the woman stirring the bowl, look happy. Truly happy.
It hits hard enough that I have to grip the doorway for half a second.
“Okay,” Delaney breathes gently, tapping the spoon against the bowl, “not too fast this time. Slow circles. Like you’re drawing a spiral.”
Sadie nods at this sacred knowledge. “A spiral like a tornado?”
Delaney laughs, that breathy, warm sound that does something to my chest I’d rather not examine. “Exactly like a tornado. A controlled tornado.”
Sadie starts stirring again, slow for three seconds, then enthusiastically enough to slosh batter onto her apron.
“Oops,” she whispers.
Delaney leans over, bumping her shoulder lightly. “That’s not an oops. That’s flair.”
Sadie giggles, flour puffing off her as she wiggles. “Daddy says I have… um… big energy.”
Delaney snorts. “Big energy is important for baking. It keeps the muffins on their toes.”
“Muffins don’t have toes,” Sadie laughs, scandalized.
“Not with that attitude,” Delaney counters.
Sadie laughs so hard she snorts, and Delaney covers her mouth, trying not to laugh too.
And something in me… fucking stops.
My whole body forgets how to function for one long, dangerous second, like somebody yanked the cord on a machine that’s been running too hard for too long.
Her smile, her warmth, the way she bends down to Sadie’s height, the soft tilt of her head when she listens…
The way her shirt lifts slightly when she reaches for the vanilla, revealing a small strip of skin at her waist…
The curve of her hip as she turns…
The faint pink flush on her throat from the oven heat…
It all hits me at once.
Hard.
Too hard.
Sadie points at the measuring cup. “Can I do the sugar?”
“Of course,” Delaney says. “But remember the rule.”
“What rule?” Sadie asks.
