Page 21 of Worth the Want
“Indiana—”
“Indie,” she interrupts. “Call me Indie, please. You know, since we know each other so well,” she adds, reusing my muttered words from earlier.
Indie.It suits her. “Indie, can you swim?”
“Y-yes. Why? Are you going to throw me in the lake?” she asks. At the ridiculous question, I feel my lips twitch. She’sreally trying to extend that olive branch, even though I think it falls on me.
“Because if you’re going to be on the dock, then you need to know how to swim,” I tell her. She pinches her lips together in an attempt to hide her smile, tucking one side of her short, chestnut hair behind an ear.
“I can swim,” she confirms.
“I can swim!” Hazels chirps.
“Not alone, and not without a life vest,” I remind her.
“Okay,” she agrees. One of the first things I did when we moved to the lake house was get Hazel into baby swim lessons. She’s still taking them at the town community center and making her way up the levels.
“What kind of ice cream are you having?” Indie asks my daughter, whose face is covered in chocolate streaks.
“Chocolate!”
“Ohh, that’s a good choice,” Indie tells her.
“What’s your favorite?” Hazel asks.
Indie taps her chin, looking up as she does. “I would have to go with cherry.”
“Cherry?” I ask. Why cherry when there are so many other flavors?
“Yep. Cherry. It’s my favorite flavor. Pies, candy, danishes, and ice cream,” she says, hands fluttering out from her.
“Chocolate is better,” Hazel states, making Indie laugh. Her laugh hits me right in the chest. I feel too warm—at odds with the cooler spring evening we’re standing out in.
“Hazel, remember to be nice,” I remind her, and she nods.
“That’s okay.” Indie waves it off. “My sister has always been about chocolate in any form.”
My mind flashes with the memory of Indie’s feisty sister. “Iremember the sister,” I say, smiling over her boldness. I don’t think my comment is out of line or rude. But something about it has Indie looking nervous.
Her smile is a little off-kilter when she replies with a soft hum. “Mhm. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your evening. I’ll see you around,” she says to me, then looks at Hazel. “It was so lovely to meet you, Hazel Emilia Holloway.” She gives us both one more smile before turning on her heel to head for the guesthouse. With the last of the sunlight fading, I can barely make out her small form walking away. I fold the blanket we were sitting on and pick up my discarded bowl.
I wait until I hear her door shut and see a light turn on before picking Hazel up into my arms. She’s still holding her ice cream bowl and licking at her spoon, only now, instead of dribbling down her face, it’s dripping onto me.
“Okay, Hazey. I think that’s enough sugar for tonight. I know you had a cookie at Grammy and Grandpa’s house too.” Along with who knows what else.
“I did and I had a peanut butter cup,” she says, and I laugh at her honesty, hugging her close to kiss the crown of her head. This little girl has changed my life in unimaginable ways and brought more love into it than I ever expected. She’s always going to come first for me. Her head makes its way under my chin as we climb the stairs of the front porch.
I sit her on the kitchen counter inside, and take her bowl to put our dishes in the sink, and wet a rag with warm water to wipe her face down.
“Now, I know Hazel is around here somewhere,” I say before swiping the rag over her mouth and cheeks.
“I’m here!” she yells.
“She was right here just a second ago,” I tease.
“Daddy, it’s me!” I give her chin a couple more wipes.
“There’s my girl. Gosh, you’re pretty. Has anyone ever told you that?” I ask her, looking into her soft, brown eyes.
