Page 14 of Pucking the Single Dad
"Dad's being paranoid," Finn announced cheerfully. "But paranoid with cookies, so it's okay."
"I saw those cookies you snuck in," I said, ruffling his hair. "And it's not paranoid, it's prepared."
"The checkout line's insane," Serena said, gesturing to the queues that stretched into the aisles. "I'll probably just eat peanut butter straight from the jar and call it dinner."
"Come have hot chocolate with us!" Finn grabbed her sleeve. "The store has a café and Dad always lets me get whipped cream when we're waiting for lines to go down. Please?"
She glanced at me, questioning. I nodded, trying to ignore how right it felt to include her in our routine.
The café was crowded but we found a small table. Finn immediately launched into a detailed explanation of his storm preparation responsibilities—filling water bottles, checking flashlight batteries, making sure his breathing medications were all accounted for and accessible.
"First," he counted on chocolate-covered fingers, "water bottles filled to HERE—" he indicated a precise level with his pinkie, "—not HERE because they'll explode when frozen. Second, flashlights in every room including bathrooms because what if you're pooping when the power dies? Third—"
"Breathe, buddy," I interrupted.
"Breathing is step four. After checking all medications are accessible." He turned to Serena with deadly seriousness. "Do you have backup medications?"
"I don't take any medications."
Finn's eyes went wide with the kind of awe usually reserved for superheroes. "None? Like, zero medications?"
"Zero."
"Weird flex but okay," he muttered, which made Serena snort-laugh into her coffee.
"Where did you even learn that phrase?" I demanded.
"Friends."
"You're seven."
"Seven and three quarters." He stirred his hot chocolate counterclockwise exactly six times. "Miss Serena, do you know about real winter? Dad googled San Antonio and said you probably think fifty degrees is Arctic."
"Finn—"
"He's right," Serena laughed. "The biggest storm I dealt with in San Antonio was when the air conditioning broke in August. This is all new territory."
"You need supplies," I heard myself saying. "Your cabin's older, probably not as insulated. Do you have a backup heat source? Emergency water? Battery radio?"
"I have..." she paused, thinking. "A flashlight and the soup you just saw me buy."
"That's not enough!" Finn looked genuinely distressed. "Dad, she needs help!"
And somehow, that's how I ended up spending my afternoon winterizing Serena's cabin. Finn appointed himself assistant supervisor, creating increasingly elaborate scenarios about what could go wrong in a storm while Serena and I worked.
"What if bears try to get in because they smell food?" he asked, watching me seal a drafty window.
"Bears hibernate in winter, buddy," I said, spreading caulk along the frame.
"What if they wake up hungry?"
"Then Miss Serena throws the soup at them and runs next door," Serena suggested, making Finn giggle.
We worked well together, falling into an easy rhythm. She handed me tools and occasionally touched my shoulder when she moved past—casual contact that shouldn't have made my skin hum.
"You're good at this," she said as I installed weather stripping on her door.
"I've had practice. Our house is basically a fortress at this point." I straightened, catching her watching me with an expression I couldn't read. "What?"
