The last thing I’m looking for is another Prince Charming look-alike who ends up being an absolute frog.
CHAPTER TWO
Grant
As I navigate into the long drive leading to the historic farmhouse where I grew up, Lily and Poppy are already chattering away about their plans for the day.
“Gramps said he was going to teach me welding, but not until I turn seven.” This from Lil, six and an old soul. She’s got her hair in two neat braids and her outfit coordinates in pinks and purples.
“Gram said I could help her make peanut butter cookies and if it’s nice this afternoon maybe we could ride Thistle,” Poppy joins in, her four-year-old little voice sounding more and more mature. It kills me.
Her outfit includes most colors of the rainbow and then some, and since she wouldn’t let me brush her hair, let alone braid it, she used clips to keep it out of her face. It’s tacked down in front and rises in a halo of wispy curls toward the back. We’ll need baths with hair washing tonight for sure.
“I’ll have to chat with Gramps about the welding, but cookies and pony riding sounds reasonable to me. You just have to promise to save me a cookie.” I glance in the rearview to see them both grinning wide. Their pale blonde locks match in color if not style, and add in their dark brown eyes, they are the perfect combination of their parents’ features.
Sometimes, looking at them still sideswipes me with brutal grief.
“Of course we will, Dad!”
There it is. Gut punch a handful of times a day, isn’t it? Doesn’t always get me this bad, but I’m oddly tender this morning after a bad night’s sleep. I am their dad, but they had another dad. And a wonderful mom. And both of those amazing people are not only gone from their lives but from mine, too, and the world will never be as bright without them.
I can’t get caught up in those feelings right now, though.
The girls talk through their plans while I park and start unloading. I don’t normally work Saturdays, but we’ve got a few cases causing us trouble and I need to go in for a few hours. Thankfully, they aren’t upset at extra time with their grandparents.
“There’s my boy,” Dad says as he holds out his arms.
He clutches me close, a gesture that used to cause my eyes to roll and all kinds of teenaged angst about being smothered to nearly strangle me, but now I hug him back just as tight.
Once you know loss, it becomes easier to be open. Even when my default tends toward a grumpy setting, or so my little sister named it, I appreciate what he gives. I’ve never asked Dad if he was always like this or if it happened afterhe lost someone, but either way, I’m grateful I can accept what he’s offering.
“Hey, Dad.”
He smiles at me, no reservations. He’s open and affectionate in a way I never appreciated until I left Juniper View like my tail was on fire.
“Brace for impact,” I warn, right as Poppy and Lily come barreling into his legs. I’ve warned them that if they get much bigger, they’re going to take him out like bowling balls.
“My girls! I’m so glad you’re here to rescue me from a day of dreadful boredom.” He drops to one knee, taking all four of their little hands into his weathered ones. “But you’ll help me, won’t you? You’ll keep Gram from making me do chores all day? You’ll help me have some fun?”
His bright blue eyes are pleading, silver hair glinting in the sun, but his head snaps up when he hears, “Are we doing that? Making poor old Gram out to be the taskmaster while Gramps gets to be the fun one?”
My mom is smirking from the wraparound wood porch but crouches to gather the girls to her. Lily and Poppy are instantly asking about making cookies, but my mom straightens, squints at my dad, and points two fingers at her eyes then toward him in the classic “I’m watching you” gesture.
Dad absolutely lights up and looses a giggle. “I do so love your mother. She keeps me on my toes.” He’s still grinning back in her direction, though she’s already disappeared inside the house with the girls.
“As nauseating as you two can be, I’m glad.” I pat his back, and he heads toward the house while I gather the kids’ bags.
“Gramps, can you see what’s wrong with Daddy?”Poppy asks, reappearing on the porch and swinging around one of the columns flanking the front door.
“What’s wrong with Daddy, do you think?” my dad asks her in that tone that says he’s completely wrapped around her finger.
Her brown eyes grow wide. “He was stomping around all morning. He’s grumpy.”
“Come on, kid. Why are you throwing me under the bus?” I send her a scowl but there’s no heat to it. I’ve learned the hard way I can’t expect these two to keep anything to themselves.
“What? Gramps isn’t a bus!” She giggles and races back inside.
Dad’s head slowly turns to me.
