Page 12 of Small Town Daddy

"Maybe I should've just left you at home," I whispered.

But even as I said it, I knew I couldn't have. Mr. Whiskers was my anchor, my safety net in a world that often felt too big, too harsh.

I took a deep breath, setting Mr. Whiskers gently on the desk. "Okay, Lucy," I said firmly. "No more moping. We've got work to do."

I surveyed the stack of supplies from Wilkins' Hardware. Paint cans, brushes, sandpaper, and a intimidating array of tools I barely knew how to use. My stomach churned with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"Right," I muttered, grabbing a notepad. "Let's make a plan."

I scribbled furiously, mapping out rooms and tasks. "Living room first," I decided. "Then kitchen, then . . . oh god, there's so much."

My hand cramped, and I flexed my fingers. A traitorous little voice in my head whispered, 'Maybe you should call Marcus. He offered to help . . .'

"No," I said out loud, startling myself. "No distractions. I need to do this on my own."

But as I stared at my messy list, doubt crept in. Did I really know what I was doing? What if I messed it all up?

I glanced at Mr. Whiskers, his button eyes seeming to hold all the wisdom in the world. "What do you think, buddy? Am I being stubborn? Or just . . . scared?"

***

The porch swing creaked softly as I settled in, cradling a steaming mug of chamomile tea. My big plan of starting the work today had been left by the wayside, replaced by confusion and excitement about Marcus. Mr. Whiskers sat beside me,his floppy ears rustling in the evening breeze. The sky was a masterpiece of pinks and golds, like something out of a fairy tale.

In the house, I could hear the gurgle of dad’s old washing machine. It was nice to discover that it still worked, and the sound was nostalgic. It took me right back.

I took a sip of my tea, letting the warmth seep into my bones. "What a day, huh?" I murmured to Mr. Whiskers.

My mind drifted back to the hardware store, to Marcus's gentle hands as he helped clean paint off my stuffed bunny. The memory made my cheeks flush.

"He didn't laugh," I whispered, almost to myself. "He didn't think it was weird that I still had you."

I ran my fingers over Mr. Whiskers' soft fur, lost in thought. Marie's words echoed in my head: "He sees you for who you are and likes it."

Could that be true? My heart raced at the possibility.

"Maybe . . ." I hesitated, glancing around as if someone might overhear. "Maybe he'd understand. About . . . you know. The Little stuff."

The words felt both terrifying and exhilarating to say out loud. I'd never told anyone about that part of myself, not even Marie.

"What do you think, Mr. Whiskers?" I asked, holding him up. "Am I crazy to even consider it?"

His button eyes stared back, offering silent comfort. I hugged him close, inhaling the familiar scent of home and childhood.

"Maybe Marie's right," I whispered into his fur. "Maybe I shouldn't close myself off so much."

A soft smile spread across my face, hope bubbling up despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach. For the first time in years, I let myself imagine sharing all of me with someone else.

"It's scary," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "But . . . maybe it's worth the risk?"

Just then, to my surprise, the gurgle of the washing machine was replaced by a different sound. Averydifferent sound.

Chapter 4

Marcus

These days, it seemedlike all I had was time.

Since things ended with Emily, it felt like there was almost nothing in my life. I worked at the store, of course, and I helped other people with DIY projects when they came up. But I'd decided to take up a hobby, something to make use of all the time I suddenly had.

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