I waddled out to find my father tying off his apron. Not just any apron, though. His uni-bow one, a combination of unicorns and rainbows. Faded and threadbare from years of washing, it was only used for one specific kitchen task.
Making apple pie.
It was a tradition in the St. James household, usually undertaken the day Dad came home from a road trip back when he played professionally. We used to make an apple pie together while Mom went out to one of her girls’ lunches, because she was dying for some “me time” after days trapped with us. For a while, Cat and I had made it alone because Dad “needed his rest” (aka, was hungover), but the tradition started up again when he was in recovery.
He looked up. “Hey, sprite.”
“Hi, Dad.” Tears threatened, which was ludicrous. It was only pie.
“Up for peeling some apples?” He had gathered the supplies I would need, so I took a seat at the counter and picked up the apple peeler. His hands were already a yellowy-white as he combined the butter and flour.
“How was practice?”
“Good. Petrov moaned about his knee and Remy gave him shit for it as usual. Kershaw decided to join us, because Elle told him she was finally calling a contractor to finish the deck he’s been building for the last three years and he needed to get out of the house instead of telling the pro everywhere he was doing it wrong.”
I chuckled. “Retirement must be tough on him.”
“Aye.”
I started peeling, determined to keep the strip of skin intact and as long as possible. “Remember when we came up with the nanny plan to woo Violet into our clutches?”
He raised his clear blue gaze to me. “It was your idea. One, make an apple pie. Two, dazzle her with slug talk. Three, feed her pasta.”
“I was quite the little manipulator.”
“You just wanted a mom.”
True, but mostly I wanted an adult female presence in my life who didn’t recoil at the weirdness. “Violet fascinated me. She was such a maverick with her pink hair and tattoos and short skirts. She didn’t care what anyone thought.”
“That was all a front. She cared greatly. She wanted a place to belong, with her sisters, with us. She just didn’t know it yet.”
I picked up another apple. Cooking apples we called them. Too sour to eat, but perfect when stewed for a while.
I met his gaze. His beard was salted with flour, and a wave of nostalgia hit me so hard I almost keeled over. If a girl had her dad keeping her safe, what else did she need?
“Vi thinks I might be lonely as a single mom. I tried to explain to her that I have everything I need.”
“What about everything you want, sprite?”
“I’m about to get it, Dad. This baby is all I’ve ever wanted.”
He grunted. “And Isner? Do you want him?”
“Why does everyone assume I can’t be happy with what I have? That I need a man as that perfect cherry on top? Most of all, why can’t people see that Jason and I only have this baby in common? That’s it. Sure, we became close because of our joint enterprise. Nothing else.”
“Tell him that.”
I snapped my head back. The dough was now in a messy ball on the counter. As a girl, I would insist on kneading it, though my small hands weren’t strong enough to make much impact. Dad would stand there patiently, letting me learn about effort and pie.
“You spoke to him?”
“He was out on the ice with his brother this morning. We sparred a little.”
Sparred? “You’d better have been nice to him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s the father of your grandchild. I would like if you got along.”
