Page 41 of One Good Puck
“I do remember. You said it was your favorite dinner of all the dinners we had last week,” I say.
She grins, then pops a small wedge of cheese into her mouth from her plate. She swings her legs on the stool she’s sitting on at the kitchen island.
“How do you like tonight’s girl dinner?” I ask.
She gives me a thumbs up while she chews.
“As good as Gavin’s girl dinner?”
She nods, and I chuckle. “Wow. That’s quite a compliment.”
“Gavin makes funnier designs with the food though.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
My chest goes all warm and gooey when I think about how good Gavin is with Emma. I probably shouldn’t be sosurprised. He has a daughter, who he raised as a single dad ever since she was thirteen. Of course he’d be good with Emma.
But the reason I’m so stunned is probably because I’m not used to seeing such an attentive and kind man around Emma. My ex—her father—made it clear he wasn’t interested in being there for her after walking out on us when she was a baby.
Sadness seeps into the happy feeling currently coursing through me. I look at Emma as she smiles down at her food, giggling at the funny faces she’s making with her green beans and chicken meatballs. It feels like my heart is on the verge of bursting at just how much I love her. Just the thought of abandoning her makes me want to vomit. She’s my entire life—my whole heart. My daughter. How could her father do such a thing?
I push aside the feeling and focus on the moment. No more thinking about him. I’m having dinner with my daughter at my friend’s beautiful house.
Friend.
That word snags in my brain. I think back to the other night at Del and Ingrid’s engagement party, when we talked about how Gavin defended his wife against her ex. When I told him that I was drawn to a man who would burn the world down for the woman he loves.
I still remember that look in his eyes when I said it. How his icy blue gaze turned fiery as he stared at me.
The way he said my name, his voice a low, sexy growl.
The way I wished he would have kept talking.
But he didn’t. Because before he could finish, it was time for Ingrid and Del’s toast. And once that was over, Gavin and I got pulled into separate conversations, and themoment was over. I couldn’t ask him what he was going to say after all that. It would have been weird.
But I have been fantasizing about what I wish he would have said.
Ever since that night, I’ve fantasized about him looking me in the eye, that raw want in his gaze, and saying, “I’d burn the world down for you, Abby.”
Embarrassment cooks me from the inside out, just like it has every time I’ve entertained that silly fantasy. No way was he going to say that. It was a fleeting moment after an emotionally charged conversation, that’s it. Nothing more.
“Mommy, can you text this picture to Gavin?” Emma asks, pulling me back to the moment.
She pulls out a drawing from her backpack, which is next to her dinner plate on the kitchen island.
“I made it for him today at school,” she says.
I smile at the stick figure scrawled in crayon. Next to him are a hockey stick and ice skates. She wrote, “Good luck, Gavin!” in big letters at the top.
“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet. He’s going to love that.”
I snap a photo and text it to him along with a quick message.
Emma made this for you to bring you and the guys good luck while you’re away.
Gavin’s been gone the past week for a string of away games. He’s due back in a couple of nights.
Not even a minute later, my phone buzzes with a text.
