We fall quiet as we eat, the sound of Chloe’s show filtering in.
“Can you show me how you did that braid sometime?” I blurt.
Her eyes widen slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“You did one on her yesterday,” I explain. “She wanted me to do it this morning.” I shrug helplessly. “It didnotgo well.”
“No?” She fights a smile. A real one.
And I really like seeing it.
“You seriously want me to teach you how to braid hair?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
“Because you’re…you?”
“How flattering,” I say dryly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You know,” I tease, “hockey players need to practice things too.”
“But you guys maneuver around on razor-thin blades.” She waves a hand. “And aren’t you all always talking about who has good hands?”
“Good hands—andIhave them—have nothing to do with my Braiding Skills.”
She giggles. “Braiding Skills. Seriously?”
“Yeah, Stitch.” I hold her eyes. “So…will you teach me?”
Her expression shifts.Softens. “Sure,” she says quietly. “I can show you.”
“Thanks.”
Neither of us moves.
And for one reckless second I consider hauling her out of her seat, dragging her into my lap, and tasting her.
Right here in the kitchen.
With Chloe in the next room and absolutely no excuse except…that I want to.
That Ineedto.
“Can I have more pizza?” Chloe shouts.
I blink.
Table that urge.
Then I get up and bring my daughter some more pizza.
Twenty-One
Finn
“What do you think?”he asks, stepping back and surveying his handiwork.
