Page 56 of Blame It On the Lattes

Sam had texted a few minutes ago, saying he was on his way. I had hoped to have dinner ready before he walked in, but time wasn’t on my side tonight. I heard the garage door open and then close before the door leading into the house opened.

“Uncle Sam!” Kennedy squealed, abandoning her veggies in the sink and running to him.

“Hey, Kennedy! How’s my favorite girl doing?” He set his stuff down on the closest table and picked her up, swinging her as she hugged him tightly.

“I’m good. I’m helping Mommy make dinner.”

“Well, it smells delicious. What can I help with?”

“Do you want to make the salad?” she offered, leading him by the hand to the veggies she’d left in the sink.

“Sure. I can do that. But let me say hi to your mom first.”

I smiled as he pulled me in for a hug and placed a kiss on my neck, where Kennedy couldn’t see it. She knew we were dating, but we still tried our best to keep PDAs to a minimum when she was around. It wasn’t like she was used to seeing her dad and I be affectionate with each other.

“Hi, welcome home,” I said, already feeling flustered by his kiss.

“Thank you. I’m happy to be home,” he replied, still standing close enough to keep the butterflies going in my stomach.

“Sam!” Kennedy called, interrupting us. “We have to make salad. It’s healthy for you.”

He stepped back and chuckled, looking down at my daughter, who was standing beside us.

“You can kiss mommy later, but right now, we make the salad.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the sink as she climbed back up on the step stool.

“Do you know how to cut with a knife?” she asked, sounding a little bossier than I liked.

“I do.”

“Okay. I’ll wash. You cut.”

“Deal.”

I grinned and let them be as I finished the rest of dinner and set the table.

Kennedy clapped excitedly as Sam set the salad bowl on the table beside the basket of bread and the chicken fettuccini alfredo I’d thrown together. She smiled as he helped her with the salad tongs before letting her serve herself.

My heart ached in the best way as I watched him with her, falling perfectly into the role of being a father figure without trying. I knew better than to allow my heart to fall any deeper than I had already, but I couldn’t help myself.

We laughed and talked about our day while Kennedy and Sam had a contest to see who could chew their noodles the fastest as it hung from their mouth. They were silly, and dinner was lighthearted and fun, something I hadn’t realized how much I had missed until now.

My phone dinged on the table with a new email alert that I would have typically ignored, but when I saw the subject line and sender, I rushed to open it.

“No phones at the dinner table, Mommy,” Kennedy whined, likely more upset that I wasn’t paying attention to their noodle contest than with me being on my phone.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I said absently, my eyes quickly scanning the email message.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, touching my hand to get my attention.

“A job I applied for in Houston wants to do a phone interview tomorrow. They’re looking to quickly fill a spot for a second-grade teaching position at their school. If selected, I would start January 5th.”

Sam sank back in his chair as his face fell.

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