“Maddie,” I warn.
“What?” she says, wide-eyed. “It slipped.”
Natalie presses her lips together to hide a smile. “It’s okay. We can make an exception for one meatball, but we usually don't give her people food,” she says gently.
Then Maddie gets sauce on her cheek in the process stuffing a fork full of pasta into her mouth. Natalie wipes it with her thumb without thinking. I take a bite of the garlic bread. Natalie nudges the salad toward me like she knows I’ll ignore it otherwise.
I pop another meatball into my mouth.
“These are ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re dangerously good at this.”
“Careful,” she says. “I’ll start cooking every night.”
Maddie’s eyes widen. “Yes.”
I look between them. “You two did a great job.”
“Teamwork,” Maddie says proudly.
I watch Natalie while Maddie talks about school and unicorn folders and Mr. Pickles asserting dominance over Daisy.
She listens. Really listens. She asks follow up questions. She laughs at the right moments. She doesn’t try to take over. She doesn’t perform.
She’s not trying too hard.
She’s just here.
You chose well.
The thought lands solid in my chest.
***
After dinner, Maddie attempts to negotiate out of bath time.
“Married people stay up later,” she argues.
“Married people still get clean and brush their teeth,” Natalie counters.
Maddie groans dramatically but lets Natalie lead her upstairs. I follow slower, leaning in the doorway while Natalie sits on the edge of the tub, rolling up her sleeves.
“You can pour the bubbles,” she tells Maddie.
Maddie beams like she’s been handed the Stanley Cup.
“Natalie, I can take over. You can go relax.”
“Nope. I want to do it. Maddie and I have a game to play with the bubbles.”
I could step away.
I don’t.
***
I watch Natalie braid Maddie’s damp hair after the bath. Watch her read in different voices. Watch Maddie curl against her side like she’s done it forever.
This isn’t sexual tension.
