Page 18 of Molly
I bent at the knees and scooped her up in my arms, breathing in the scent of her. She smelled of strawberry conditioner, glue, and garlic. Dr. Feinburg’s angry voice receded from my mind, as did the pressure of competing against my colleagues to make the best impression on the hospital higher ups. None of that mattered. Not when I held my precious daughter in my arms.
I wiped a streak of red sauce from Chloe’s smooth, chipmunk-like cheeks. “What are you up to, rascal?”
“Miss Molly and I are making dinner. Pasghetti and meatballs.”
I looked past Chloe to Molly in my kitchen. The cabinets were solid oak, sturdy but outdated, the countertop in need of an upgrade. Unlike most buyers, the kitchen hadn’t been what sold me on the house. The credit for that rested solely on the outstanding school district. The kitchen…well, we mostly used the microwave to heat up left-over take-out and the oven to cook chicken nuggets and French fries, much to my mother’s horror. If it wasn’t spanakopita, dolmades, or moussaka, I wasn’t feeding my child right.
There hadn’t been a woman standing, much less cooking, in that kitchen…ever. The picture was so wholesome—Leave It to Beaverfamilial—that my breath hitched. An ache in my stomach twisted uncomfortably.
As a father, I wanted to give Chloe everything I thought she needed. And a mother…well…what little girl didn’t need a mother? But that was the one thing I couldn’t give her, wasn’t it?
Families all look different. Doesn’t mean she lacks for love.I told myself that, but I wasn’t very convincing.
Chloe stared up at me expectantly, and I realized I hadn’t responded to her announcement. “That’s awesome. I can’t wait to try some.”
Her grinned filled with pride, and she wriggled from my arms. Once her feet touched the ground, she raced back to her chair, climbed up, and stirred a pot on the stove.
Molly lifted the cutting board and slid the contents she’d been chopping into a bowl. She looked up and smiled. A second later her eyebrows scrunched as her gaze took me in.
I glanced down. What had—Oh. Right. I wasn’t wearing the same starched white shirt and thin navy tie as I had been at the hospital. First day, she didn’t know that I showered and changed clothes before coming home. A precaution against bringing home pathogenic bacteria and infecting Chloe with some of the same illnesses the patients were fighting at the hospital.
“You didn’t have to make dinner.” I reached for the bowl in front of her—salad—and placed it on top of the eat-in table.
Her cheeks pinked and her gaze dropped from mine. “It was no big deal.”
To come home from a long day of work to a freshly cooked meal? One completely unexpected? One my daughter had been included in? I considered that a very big deal. A colossal deal. I opened my mouth to tell her so, but an alarm rent the air.
“The garlic bread.” She whirled around and put an oven mitt over her hand. “Chloe, can you set the table like I showed you earlier? Your daddy will be so impressed.”
“Watch what I can do, Daddy.” Chloe opened a drawer, silverware tinkling together, before she skipped to the table.
The oven door opened, emitting a wave of steam up into the air. Molly made a sound that resembled a small squeak and had me edging around the island. Had she burned herself on the cookie sheet? She set the sheet on the side of the stove without pans and turned. Her glasses were so fogged up I couldn’t see her pretty blue-green eyes.
“Here, let me.” Without thought, I reached out and slipped the frames from her face. She blinked, her eyes unfocused, as I cleaned her lenses on the hem of my t-shirt. This close, it was impossible not to notice things about her that I hadn’t seen before. Her skin appeared soft and smooth, the lines of her high cheekbones one an artist would love to paint. Her nose was small and pert, with a slight upturn on the end. And her lips…I shouldn’t have been looking at her lips, but I also couldn’t pull my gaze away. Her lips were even softer than her skin appeared to be. Pillowy and full and—I swallowed hard—slightly parted.
Her breath fanned over me, sweet with a hint of grape, and I wondered if Chloe had shared her favorite juice with Molly. The seconds turned excruciating until I had finally cleaned off the last smudge on her lenses.
I should have handed her glasses back. If I’d had more than five hours of sleep in the last two days, I might have been thinking clearly enough to have done just that. But I was decidedlynotclear-headed and instead my hands rose and slid the frames gently onto her face, my fingertips brushing alongside her temple and caressing her hair.
Her light pink hair that all of a sudden seemed to fit her perfectly. Innocent and fun. Young and lively.
Soft and silky.
I jerked my hands away and stepped back awkwardly.
Her eyes searched mine, and heat crawled up my neck. Did she see my actions as inappropriate? Had they been? I couldn’t deny that I found her attractive. I’d been living like a stretched-thin monk for over four years, but that didn’t give me any excuse to linger over the woman I’d hired to care for Chloe.
Please don’t let her think I hired her to play house with me.
“I’m—”
“Thank you.”
We spoke at the same time, but luckily she cut me off before I said sorry. If she was thanking me, then maybe I hadn’t done anything that I needed to apologize for. A groan filled my mouth, but I swallowed it down. When was the last time I’d interacted with a female who wasn’t a colleague, under four feet tall, or wearing a backless hospital gown? Obviously, I was sorely out of practice.
And Drew thought I should date. I mentally scoffed at that. When Chloe’s stuffed unicorn came to life, that would be about when I’d start dating again.
Molly readjusted her frames and beamed at me with an over-bright smile. “I’ll just get the rest of the food on the table, then get out of your hair so you and Chloe can have a nice family meal.”
