He saw it anyway.
Honey folded her arms and asked, “What brought you out here anyway? It’s the weekend. I thought you’d be busy, I don’t know, doing dad things.”
“Normally, yeah.” He gave Pickles one last pat before setting him down beside Dolores, who immediately nudged the kid like she was counting limbs. “But the girls are going to the Sugar Spoon Showdown in town. It gets very competitive.” He lifted his brows like he expected Honey to comment on the violation of magic being used to compete, but she bit her tongue. “Marlene’s taking the girls, I figured I’d get the day to myself.”
Which apparently meant making excuses to hover around Honey.
Before he could dwell on that too much, a pair of small boots stomped through the orchard, scattering dirt and indignation.
“Dad!” Emma burst into view, face flushed. Her hair was pulled into some kind of lopsided braid-ponytail combo with a bobby pin half sticking out. “Marlene says we have to leave in five minutes, and you promised you’d help with my hair.”
Ethan opened his mouth, but didn’t get the chance to respond.
Brooke poked her head out from behind a tree andskipped toward them with a teasing grin. Melly followed behind.
“It’s because Brody Fitch is going to be there,” Brooke sing-songed.
Emma gasped. “I hate you!”
“You can’t say hate,” Melly added.
“Girls,” Ethan said in his best Dad-voice, rubbing his temples. “Emma, your hair looks great. You don’t need to?—”
The rest of the sentence dried up in his throat as soon as he caught the unmistakable shimmer in Emma’s eyes. She blinked fast, trying to hide them, but he knew that look.
He hated this part. He hated the reminder that he couldn’t be everything they needed all the time. He could handle the scraped knees and runaway goats and forgotten homework, but this? This thing wrapped up in glittery barrettes and middle-school feelings felt like he was trying to lasso smoke with a rake.
Before he could even reach for a half-baked solution, Honey moved.
“Come here,” Honey said gently, crouching down and patting the stone beside her. “I can fix this.”
Emma hesitated only a moment before she sat, clearly trying not to look too relieved. Honey reached into her back pocket and pulled out a tie. Ethan watched her in silence as she started easing through the tangled strands with gentle fingers. Then, she got to work. Her hands were gentle as she wove Emma’s thick hair into a crown braid that wrapped around her head like something out of a storybook. She tucked the ends neatly and used the remaining pin to secure the final strand.
“There,” Honey said, brushing stray hairs from Emma’s forehead.
Emma ran to her dad’s phone, checking herreflection on the screen. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. Then, louder, “Thanks, Honey.”
She shrugged. “Any boy who doesn’t fall over himself with compliments is not worth your time. Save your energy for someone who knows the difference between pretty and remarkable.”
Emma blushed, the smile tugging at her mouth even as she tried to suppress it.
From somewhere down the orchard row, Marlene’s voice rang out, “Girls! Let’s go!”
Brooke took off running, tugging Melly behind her. Emma followed at a slower pace, one hand brushing carefully over her braid like she was making sure it was still in place.
Honey watched them go, Ethan watched Honey, and then they were finally alone.
When the orchard had gone quiet again, with just the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of Marlene corralling children, he leaned against the well and folded his arms loosely over his chest.
“I used to be able to do a ponytail,” he said quietly. “When they were little, they didn’t care if it was crooked. They didn’t care if their socks matched or if their clothes were from the same place we bought groceries. It was easier then.”
Honey glanced over at him. She sat down again beside her piles of coins. “You’re doing well.”
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, shifting a little on his feet, “try telling that to a preteen who just wants to look cute for some boy.”
“No, I mean it,” she said, sitting up straighter now, her voice firm. “You might not have spreadsheets, or color-coded systems, or kids with matching socks, but the girls are clearly loved. And they know it.”
She turned toward him, looking him dead in the eye.
