“Scones?”
“We’ll have to look and see,” Scarlett said, turning toward the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder. “Coming?”
“Sure.” He closed the toolbox with a snap, more than ready to get to know his daughter.
Cora gave a whoop of delight when Scarlett pulled a fresh scone from the bakery bag for her along with a strawberry drink. “Willow knows you too well,” Scarlett observed.
“Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”
He understood the Southern tradition of respect and hated the distance at the same time. “You’re welcome.” He wasn’t going anywhere. There would be time to earn Scarlett’s trust and…
And what?
What did he want here?
Family. That was the obvious answer. Being in Scarlett’s presence only emphasized how much he’d missed her, how settled he felt when she was close. The rough edges around his career predicament had smoothed out as soon as he’d seen her on that stage. And that was before he knew about their daughter.
Every moment in her presence was a miraculous discovery and he almost resented it when she declared herself full and scampered off to play with her Legos, promising to show them her creation as soon as she finished it.
“The shelf,” he muttered. “I’ll get to it.”
“Thanks. I’ve got one more lesson,” Scarlett said. “Then we’ll start sorting this out.”
Cooper spent the next hour immersed in the honest, uncomplicated labor of repair. The shelf was indeed a disaster, succumbing to the weight of laundry detergent and the gravitational force of an impatient and determined six-year-old. He worked methodically, reinforcing the brackets and replacing the stripped screws.
As he worked, he listened to the sounds of the house. He heard Scarlett talking to her student, her voice patient and melodic. He heard the occasionalclackingof Legos from Cora’s bedroom.
It was a domestic symphony he’d never imagined for himself. But now, hearing it, he wanted more. Here, every floorboard creak sent a message, telegraphed a warm family vibe. At one point, he found himself pausing, drill in hand, just to catch the cadence of Scarlett’s laughter.
Dangerous territory.
She was so similar and yet so different than the young woman he’d loved. That brilliant girl had gone after life with both hands and her whole heart, soaking up theory, data, and experiences. Mature beyond her years, yes, and so full of eager wonder.
As a mother, she struck him now as the lead architect in a well-ordered world. He went to the kitchen for a glass of water, and watching her help her student adjust a chord, he realized he’d missed out on more than his little girl. Scarlett’s decision had stolen time from their relationship. The age gap he’d worried about—those eleven years that had felt like a chasm when she was twenty-two—now felt like nothing more than a footnote.
She caught him staring and he retreated to the laundry room to clean up. She’d grown more beautiful in his absence, more practical too, with sharp fences around what mattered most to her.
“Are you done?” Cora had returned, her hands behind her back.
“The shelf is now officially rated for mountain climbers about your size,” Cooper said, wiping his hands on a rag. He sat back on his heels. “That isnotpermission to try again though. What have you got there?”
“A new best friend,” Cora replied with pride. She stepped closer and carefully revealed a Lego creature.
He really hoped he wasn’t supposed to recognize the beast. It struck him as a colorful patchwork blend of a unicorn and a bear. “Does your friend have a name?” he asked, hoping she’d give him more to go on.
Her head cocked and she frowned. “Not yet.” She studied the figure in her hands. “I wanted it to take longer, but I got it done too soon.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Momma isn’t done teaching so I should do more workbook stuff.”
“Maybe your friend needs a friend.” And maybe every time he opened his mouth he was saying the wrong thing. “What kind of workbook?”
“Math.” Cora plopped down on his toolbox. “The numbers are too easy today.” She jumped up, set her creature on his toolbox, and ran off.
He was wary about touching the thing. No way would he risk breaking her build. He was debating how to proceed when she skipped back in with what he could only assume was the workbook. She opened it and held it up. “See?”
He skimmed the pages, startled to see foundational word problems where he’d expected simple addition or subtraction. She was six! And definitely showing signs that she was their kid. “You did these yourself?” Cooper asked, his voice thick.
Her chin bobbed up and down. “I did all the numbers.” She pressed up on her toes to point out one of the problems. “See this one? If the boat goes five miles an hour and the tide is two miles an hour, the boat is actually going seven miles. Or three miles, if it’s going the wrong way.”
“Against the tide,” Cooper supplied on reflex. He stared at the neat, penciled numbers and felt a sudden, sharp pang of grief for the six years ofa-hamoments he’d missed.
