Page 62 of A Game Plan for Love

I bark out a laugh.

“She said you paid for all of my new toys,” Nora continues, brows furrowing. “Do I have to give them back if you stop liking her?”

Her question stomps on my heart, and I rub my diaphragm.

“No.” I pause, trying to find the right words to reassure her. I don’t know where her concern is coming from, but I know exactly how she feels. “I do like your mom,” I admit, “but those toys belong to you. You can do what you want with them. If you want to give them away or keep them forever, it’s up to you.”

“I like my new clothes,” she admits, voice timid. “And my markers.”

“I’m glad.” Her blue eyes shine. “Do you think we should include your mom?” I ask.

She looks over at the bathroom door. “Decy?”

“Yes?”

“Can you get me a puppy?”

“Absolutely not!” Addie screams from outside the door. “Declan, I swear to god if you get her a dog I will put shit in your smoothies.”

Nora gasps loudly and runs to the door, ripping it open. “Swear jar.”

Addie snatches her phone from her daughter's grip and frowns at me while I laugh. “Donotget her a dog. I don’t care how cute she is, or how effective she is at negotiation,” she says with gritted teeth.

“I promise.”

I place a hand over my heart and lie down on the couch, propping my head up on a pillow. Addie argues with her daughter about the cost associated with her swearing. Nora claims all swear words cost a hundred dollars. Addie gives me a look through the phone that could curdle blood.

I can’t see what’s happening, but there’s some stomping, grunting, and then a heavy sigh. “Go brush your teeth,” Addie says.

Her eyes are tired when she reappears in view.

“I’m sorry if I’m causing problems.” A silence hangs between us, and I nervously fill it. “I just wanted to make her feel special.” I gulp back the discomfort and offer Addie a sliver of truth. “I never had anyone make me feel important when I was her age…I apologize if I overstepped.”

“You’re not causing problems. We’re just re-adjusting.”

“What?”

She releases a deep sigh. “It’s only ever been Nora and me. We’ve had a few babysitters, but we’ve never had…” Her eyes flicker to the left. “We’re learning how we fit in your world, and with that comes some growing pains.

“I’m trying to let Nora make connections and allow her to grow fond of you and your friends, but it makes me nervous.”

I don’t need a crystal ball to know what her next words are going to be.

“The people in my life tend to leave, and I don’t want that for Nora. But I think in protecting her, I’ve put her at a disadvantage.” Addie’s eyes glisten with tears. “She loves your friends, and you, but what if this doesn’t work out and it’s all ruined for her?”

“Addie.” She tries to continue, but I cut her off. “First, no matter what happens between us, you and Nora always have a place here.” I pause, debating, before I add, “Have you ever heard of a zing?”

“No?”

“Deon says it’s an inexplicable sense of comfort with someone else. Jack says it feels like a homecoming after a long vacation apart. Henry told me his zing felt like a knife to the chest when he realized he couldn’t live without Sawyer.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been chasing the elusive zing—the inexplicable connection with someone else. Someone who feels like home. I zinged with you.”

“What?”

“The day you gave me the trash can. I felt the bolt of lightning in my chest. It’s why I’m so sure about this—about us. I thought I felt it the night we had our picnic.”

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