“And how often is that?”
“Almost always,” I admit. “But my delivery meals are pretty good.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Well, maybe not good, but they’re passable,” I amend.
“What about when you wrap the movie? You said you’ll be done by Christmas.”
Belle hops up and down. “That means on Christmas you can eat all the cookies you want!”
I laugh at her excitement.
Poppy slides the pizzas into the oven on a large slab that looks like a pizza stone. Another thing I don’t recall us having.
“Where’d we get that?” I ask.
“I brought some of my kitchen items. I put them in storage when I moved into my parents’ place. I hope that’s okay,” she says with an uncertain smile. “This kitchen only had the basics, and I love to cook.”
“I gave you money. You could have bought whatever you needed instead of bringing your things from home,” I point out.
“I know. But you’re only here a short time. It would be a waste when I have it all sitting in boxes in my parents’ basement.”
“So were you staying with your parents because Derek broke up with you—and you were the one who had to move?”
“Yes.”
I need a few hours with my boxing gloves and a bag.
My feelings must show on my face because she says, “But it worked out for the best. That townhome was never my style anyway. He chose it.”
“Can I set the timer again?” Belle interrupts my darkening train of thought.
“Sure,” Poppy says. “Do you know how to set it for twenty minutes? I’ll lift you up.”
My daughter glances at me with a giggle. “Daddy’s better at lifting me than you.”
“Your wish is my command,” I say, feeling one thousand feet tall that Belle prefers me even to Poppy, whom she adores.
I lift her, and she turns the dial.
“Now it’s time to take a bath,” Poppy tells Belle as I set her down. “And we’ll have to wash your hair tonight. When you’re done, the pizzas should be ready.”
“Do I have toooo? You always make me wash my hair. But Daddy only has me wash it once a week.”
Poppy looks at me, startled.
I rub my jaw, feeling like a teen busted for not doing my homework. “Ah, yeah, sometimes we forget that step.”
“Yes, you have to take a bathandwash your hair. It was hard to brush it this morning. Washing and conditioning will help.”
“I see you had trouble with the hair today,” I tease. It’s a lie. Belle’s hair is immaculate, with braids circling in a crown around her head, secured by glittery pins. I’m not sure I could do as well, even with all the other dads on YouTube helping me out. But I won’t tell her that. I’m enjoying this too much.
When was the last time I teased a girl? With my intimidating size and reserved nature, few people feel comfortable enough around me to joke and laugh. But with Poppy, it’s easy. Fun.
“Is this a competition?” She asks.
“Maybe.”
