A bright, genuine smile.
Good.
The game starts slowly. Amber insists on helping Lia to line up her ball, even going so far as to offer her the use of the ramp, should she need it. I can already tell by the way Lia holds her ball with confidence that she’s been bowling for quite some time. Still, she goes along with it for the sake of my daughter. She’s a natural with her, and when it’s Amber’s turn, Lia talks her through with a steady patience on how to line up the bowling ramp just right.
Amber scores a strike, and a smile spreads across my face.
I’d like to think I have always done what’s best for my daughter. Losing her mother the way we did devastated my world in a way I thought I’d never recover from.
I swore off dating after we buried her. Told myself that I’d focus on raising my daughter into the best young woman I could manage. But watching her with Lia makes something tighten inside of my chest again.
I told myself I’d be enough for my daughter.
Maybe I was wrong, though.
“Your turn, Daddy!” Amber chirps.
I zone back in long enough to watch my daughter jump to give Lia a high-five. I look up and I see that not only did Amber score a strike, but Lia did as well.
“Welp,” I say with a grunt as I press my hands into my knees to stand, “time for me to make peace with the gutters.”
Amber giggles. “Use the ramp! Lia can show you how to use it really good.”
“She can, can she?”
Lia blushes a bit. “I’m sure you’re a fine bowler, Eli.”
“Ah, we’ll see about that.”
A strike isn’t what waits for me during that frame, but I manage a spare. Amber cheers like I’ve just won a championship, and Lia’s giggling filters through the noise of my daughter’s clapping hands.
Lia and I pass by one another, brushing shoulders as her scent wafts up my nose. That syrupy brown sugar smell has leveled out into something a bit softer. More relaxed. Comforting in a way that rouses my inner Alpha from its years-long slumber.
Lia smells safe.
We bowl. We talk. Amber chatters about school and her favorite snacks, and Lia asks the kinds of questions that show she’s actually listening to my daughter’s answers. Amber preens under her attention. I watch how my daughter leans closer, how easily she trusts Lia.
The two hours of bowling fly by in the blink of an eye, and my daughter is flushed and happy. Lia looks more at ease than she did when she first arrived, like the tension she once carried within her has finally loosened its grip.
Then my daughter gasps. “Miss Bea!”
“Who?” Lia asks, spinning around when my daughter takes off.
I chuckle as I sit and begin taking off my shoes. “Bea Langley. She owns the bowling alley.”
“Ah.”
“There’s my favorite sugarplum,” Bea says as she crouches down, her knees popping with the effort.
My daughter runs up and gives her a hug. “Hi, Miss Bea.”
“Hey there, honey,” she says, patting her back. “Ready for a Shirley Temple? I’ve got extra cherries for you.”
“Yeah! Daddy, can I?”
I slip into my regular shoes and stand. “Of course, sweetheart. Enjoy.” I lift my hand and wave. “Hey, Buster!”
Bea barely waves at me as she takes Amber’s hand and leads her toward the concession stand.
