“Oh right,” I breathe. “Rose’s class.”
He props the door open with a stopper and brings in bags of groceries.
“Need some help?” I push off the bench and head to the porch, where I watch him lift three bags and carry them toward the kitchen.
“I did,” he grunts. “Not anymore.”
I lift the last one up and follow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“List you gave me was pathetic.” He takes mine from me. “How do you not know what you need?”
“Well, you know I was here all day, did you think to maybe ask me to come with you?” I help him unload groceries onto the counter.
“Fine. The three of us can go shopping again later this week. Ellie isn’t all that helpful either—always remembers what she wantedafterI get back,” he mutters, setting his hands on the counter and blowing a breath. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s testing me—to see if I’d know without her asking.”
Damn if that doesn’t pull something in me. Because I get it. I was just there a few minutes ago. I should be freaking out that neither one of us knows what the hell we’re doing. But right now, I want to comfort him. To reassure him that as long as he’s feeling this way—he’s giving her everything she needs.
I wonder if the same rule applies to paid help.
I rest my elbows on the counter beside him. “Or,” I start, with a murmur, “she might just still be pretty shy.”
“Nonsense. She’s been living with me for three months. I’m her father.”
“For the last three months,” I remind him. “It’s possible she didn’t get to ask for certain foods at her grandparents’. Maybe she just ate what they ate—she may still be getting used tohaving a choice, Dallas.”
He straightens, eyeing me like I’m actually making sense. “Thought she was just being difficult.”
My chest gives a little tug of defeat. I think it’s the touch of vulnerability in his voice. I release a breath. “I’m not going to pretend to know much about kids, but I don’t think she’s being difficult at all. I think she’s trying to be as easy as she can to make this work.”
He frowns.
“She wants this as much as you do, Dallas.” I spell it out.
“How can you tell?”
“By the look on her face when she told me she’s moving in here with you.” I shrug. “And the fact that she loses slippers in your room. It’s a comfort thing.” I used to do the same at Grandma’s house—leave little bits of myself behind. A book, a hair tie, an occasional sock. It wasn’t me being sloppy or careless. It was just home to me. Comfortable. Safe.
He watches me like I really am strange. But seems to accept what I’m saying, dragging a hand over his jaw. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve convinced myself that I’m going to be getting it all wrong.”
My stomach flips at his honesty. And I want to tell him something that’s both comforting—and just as painfully honest.
I touch his arm lightly—but there’s nothing light about it. It sends another current through me—starting at my fingertips and traveling all the way down to my toes. And it’s almost as if he feels what that did to me, if his scowl at my touch has anything to say about it.
But I’m starting to be less fooled by his scowls. Especially when he’s opening up about his insecurities about being a father. OK, opening up is a bit generous. Letting me drag it out of him is probably more what’s happening here.
“You’ve done more for this girl in four days than I’ll see in a lifetime.”
His gaze darkens, a crease etching between his brows as he studies me.
I pull back. “Why don’t I .?.?. make that list—for both of us—and then we can take her back to the grocery store and ask if there’s anything else she’d want.”
There’s a beat before he blinks away, nodding like it’s a step in the right direction. “OK.”
I glance around, feeling like I could be doing more than just standing around pretending to know what he’s going through. “And look, I tried to tidy up here, but everything’s pretty much—”
“You don’t have to clean, Willow.” He catches my gaze, eyes and voice raw with exhaustion. “You’re already doing more than you know just by being here.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d go crazy if I don’t do something.”
