Page 167 of Losing Faith

“Are you sure?” I genuinely ask, afraid shitless that I’m going to fuck this up further. “What if you don’t like me tomorrow? Or in a week? Or in a year?” I voice my fears to thechildin front of me and she laughs as if everything I’m saying is unrealistic.

“But I love you.” She shakes her head at me. “Why wouldn’t I like you? You’re the best.”

I smile at her words.

“Doyouwant to be my mom?”

My heart aches as I close the distance between us to kiss the top of her head. “I really do,” I admit.

Her eyes light up. “Perfect.” She wraps her arms around me. I hold her close but she quickly pulls away, humming in thought. “Maybe we can write a proposal for Daddy, then negotiate with him.”

She proceeds to tell me the plot of the movie she watched with great detail about the wedding. Stopping mid rant, she comes to join me. “I can help.” She reaches for the stove, but I catch her hand before she can turn the fire up.

“I can do it.”

I move her aside. “You can help putting the sandwiches together.”

I flip the chicken before glancing at her and she looks offended. “But that’s the easier part.”

“That’s why you’re going to do it.”

Her brows pinch together further and I bite back a smile. “Daddy lets me cook.”

“Daddy does not let you use the stove,” I correct her, knowing him too well to know that isn’t true.

She hums in response. “Well, no, but Uncle Sigh let me make pancakes and eggs.”

“On the stove?”

“Yup, he carried me and I did it all on my own.”

NowthatI don’t put past my brother. “Well, pancakes are easier. The oil and the chicken are too hot. Let me do it.”

She takes a step towards the stove to inspect it. “It doesn’t look hot, the fire isn’t even up enough.” She reaches for it again, but I pull her hand away.

“Trust me, it is. The oil gets hot fast and the fire needs to stay low. Back up while I do this next one. It’s going to pop.”

I take the perfect golden chicken out before grabbing the next one.

“Trustme,I can help,” she says again and as I set the chicken into the pan, the fire bursts in front of us.

We both let out a scream as she starts to adjust all of the nobs. “Stop it!” I whack her hand away before turning the fire down and she bursts into tears.

“Are you okay?” I turn to her in a hurry and she holds her hand to her chest. “Are you burned? Let me see.” I pull her hand away to inspect it.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson hurries into the kitchen before scooping her into his arms and rushing for the sink. “Did she get burned? What happened?”

“She–she hit me,” she cries into her dad’s arms and he pulls her hand out of the water, his brows furrowed as he looks between us.

“What?”

I roll my eyes at her dramatic reaction. “She put the fire up when I told her not to and—”

“And youhither?”

I go still when I register the fury in his voice. “I barely touched her. I just slapped her hand away from the stove. I think the fire scared her more. It grew really big and—”

“I don’t care if she burned the house down,” he bites out. “Don’teverput your hands on my kid.”

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