Page 23 of Save Me
Rosa's eyes light up at this suggestion, and she finally steps away from Amy. "Can we make pancakes?" she asks, her voice still soft but more confident now.
"Pancakes sound perfect," I tell her. "Do you know how to make them?"
She nods enthusiastically. "Mommy taught me. I'm really good at stirring."
"Well, I'm pretty good at flipping them. Think we make a good team?"
The smile that spreads across Rosa's face is worth every moment of nervousness I felt walking into this house. "Yeah! Come on, let's go to the kitchen!"
She grabs my hand – her tiny fingers barely wrapping around two of mine – and starts tugging me toward the back of the house. Amy follows behind us, and I catch the soft expression on her face as she watches her daughter warming up to me, now that I think she can feel the difference in mine and Amy's relationship.
The kitchen is small but functional, with sunshine streaming through the window over the sink. Rosa immediately starts pulling ingredients out of various cabinets, chatting on about how much fun she had with Eve last night. In the background I can hear Eve calling to Amy.
"I'll leave you two to it," Amy says, settling into a chair at the small dining table that's pushed against one wall. "I want to hear all about your sleepover with Eve while I was gone."
As Rosa launches into an animated story about watching movies and painting her nails (she shows me her tiny fingernails, painted a sparkly pink), I start gathering the ingredients she's pulled out. Flour, eggs, milk, baking powder.
"Okay, chef Rosa," I say, finding a large mixing bowl. "What's our first step?"
"We measure everything." she announces, clearly taking her role as my kitchen supervisor very seriously.
Working with Rosa is like stepping into a world I never knew I was missing. I don't do things like this with Cora yet, she's still a little too young. Rosa is precise about measurements in the way only children can be, using her finger to level off the flour in the measuring cup. She tells me about her favorite cartoon while I crack eggs, and explains in great detail why unicorns are better than horses.
When it comes time to mix everything together, she insists on doing it herself, gripping the whisk with both hands and attacking the batter with more enthusiasm than technique.
"Easy there, tiger," I laugh, putting my hands over hers to guide her movements. "We want to mix it, not launch it across the kitchen."
She giggles at this, relaxing into the rhythm I show her. "Like this?"
"Perfect. You're a natural."
Amy watches us from her spot at the table, occasionally chiming in with pointers. It's such a normal, domestic scene, and I'm surprised by how much I want to be part of it.
Once the batter is ready, I heat up a pan on the stove while Rosa arranges plates and forks on the table. She's very particular about where everything goes, adjusting the placement multiple times until it meets her standards.
"Gunner?" Rosa's voice is quieter now, more hesitant.
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to be my dad?"
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I glance over at Amy, who's gone very still in her chair, watching both of us carefully. The hope in Rosa's voice, the casual way she asks it – like she's asking if I want to play a game – makes my chest ache.
I turn off the burner and crouch down so I'm at Rosa's eye level again. This is too important for anything less than my full attention.
"Rosa, that's a really big question," I start carefully. "I care about you and your mom a lot. More than I can even explain. And if it were up to me, I'd love to be part of your family, to be here for pancake breakfasts and dance recitals and all the important stuff."
Her eyes are wide, hanging on every word.
"But here's the thing – you already have a dad. And nobody, not me or anyone else, could ever take his place. He's your dad forever, okay? That's special and important, and it doesn't change just because he's not here with you right now."
Rosa considers this seriously, her little brow furrowed in concentration. "But you could be like... an extra dad?"
The simple way she puts it makes me smile. "Maybe something like that. If your mom thinks that's okay, and if you want me around, I'd really like to be part of your lives. To take care of both of you, and have you take care of me too. How does that sound?"
She nods solemnly, then throws her arms around my neck in a hug that nearly knocks me over. "I think that sounds really good."
When I look up, Amy is watching us from across the room, her hand pressed to her mouth and tears shining in her eyes. But she's smiling – that beautiful, radiant smile that first caught my attention at the diner.
