Page 31 of A Game Plan for Love

I wiggle my eyebrows, and she flushes. Her eyes dart to Nora, who is occupied by the coloring page the waitress left for her, and she turns to face me completely.

“It’s not weird.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“I keep a log of my favorites,” she whispers, patting her purse.

“Send me the list.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You want to read them?”

“Oh, hell ya.”

The smile she offers overtakes every part of her face, eyes crinkling with joy. “You’ll have to make an account.”

“Who says I don’t already have one?”

I raise a brow, and she pauses. In a bold move, I take her free hand and intertwine our fingers. Her jaw falls. I wanted to hold her hand when we sat down at the table, but she was a nervous wreck.

Now that she’s settled a bit, I can take my turn at being nervous.

There are things I’ve never been comfortable sharing, and my childhood is one of them. Spending years of your life with foster families and in group homes can weigh heavily on someone, and even with my therapist, Sharon, it’s still a raw topic.

I know why Addie is nervous. How do I tell her that the love she has for her daughter makes me want her more? How do I explain that all I’ve ever wanted was a family to love, and part of me envies her for the love she shares with Nora?

“Are you holding her hand because you like her?” Nora’s voice cuts through the air, and Addie freezes.

“Yes,” I answer honestly.

Nora hums, eyebrows crinkling. “Why do you like my mommy?”

Addie sputters, but I squeeze her palm. “There are so many reasons,” I say, my focus fixed on Nora, “She’s funny and kind. Smart and incredibly beautiful. But most of all, she makes me feel special. Important.”

I finally look at Addie, slightly nervous to see her response, and her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are glassy. “You don’t know me that well,” she whispers.

True, but you can learn whatever you want about someone if you put in the effort. You can’t force a feeling—a zing.

“I’m a quick learner.” I wink.

“You think she’s pretty?” Nora asks, mouth full of pasta.

“Yes.”

“You’re tall,” she says. Are we moving onto a new topic, or is this related? I’m learning that Nora’s brain is a train station with dozens of trains on different tracks, all moving simultaneously.

“I am.”

“My mommy is tall. She says I’m going to be tall, too.”

Nora’s eyebrows crinkle, and Addie’s head volleys back and forth between us.“Do you want to be tall?”

Addie has gone mute, watching our interaction like a hawk. I could use an assist here. Her height seems like dangerous territory.

“Bryson said boys don’t like tall girls,” she admits quietly.

“Hewhat?!”Well, it's the first time Addie has heard this information, if her flaming red cheeks and death-grip on my hand are any indication.

I wiggle my fingers and she loosens her hold, forcing a deep, sharp breath into her lungs.

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