Page 22 of Unwrapped By the Grumpy Mountain Man
Silvie rolls her eyes but can't quite hide her smile. She's been warming up slightly throughout dinner, especially after I mentioned some books I loved when I was her age. The ice in her gaze has thawed just enough to give me hope.
I hear Hudson's footsteps returning to the dining room and look up to find him watching us with an unreadable expression. There's something different in his eyes now, something that wasn't there when he left to make his phone call. They seem... softer somehow, less guarded.
"Alright, monsters," he announces, checking his watch. "It's getting late. Time for bed."
A chorus of groans erupts from the table, with Lucy's being the loudest.
"But Violet's still here!" she protests, turning those big eyes on me. "And we didn't even show her our rooms yet!"
"Another time, baby girl," Hudson says gently but firmly. "There’s always tomorrow."
"I can put them to bed," Silvie offers, already standing and gathering empty dessert plates. "I always do it when we're at Mom's."
A flash of something—pain, frustration, anger?—crosses Hudson's face. "Sil, you don't have to do that. I'm your dad. Taking care of you girls is my job."
"But I like doing it," she insists, lifting her chin with a defiance that reminds me so much of her father. "I'm good at it."
Hudson's jaw tightens as he studies his oldest daughter. I can see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes—wanting to let her be a child, yet respecting her sense of responsibility.
"How about this," he offers after a moment. "You can handle bedtime tonight, but tomorrow I do it. Deal?"
Silvie considers this compromise, then nods, a small smile playing at her lips. She's won this round and knows it. "Deal. Come on, monsters. Teeth, pajamas, bed."
Lucy slides dramatically from her chair. "But I'm not even tiiiiired!"
"Tell you what," I say, unable to resist that pouty face. "If your dad says it's okay, I can read you a story before I go."
Lucy's eyes light up like Christmas morning. "Can she, Daddy? Please?"
Hudson looks between his hopeful youngest and me. "One story. A short one."
"Yes!" Lucy pumps her little fist in the air. "I'm gonna pick the best one!"
The girls scamper upstairs, Lucy chattering away about which book to choose, Angie following quietly behind, and Silvie bringing up the rear with an authoritative air that breaks my heart a little. Ten years old, based on what Angie said earlier, and already taking on so much responsibility.
Once they're out of earshot, Hudson runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a slow breath. "Sorry about that. Silvie... she's had to grow up too fast."
"I’m sure she gets that from someone I know," I say softly, meeting his eyes.
He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Who?"
"You," I admit. "That same stubbornness, that need to take care of everything his own way."
Something flickers in his expression—recognition, perhaps. He doesn't deny it.
"Can I help clean up?" I offer, gesturing to the remaining dishes.
"You helped with some of dinner, I clean. That's the rule," he says, stacking plates. "But you can keep me company if you want. Drink? Water? Wine? Something stronger?"
"What are you having?" I ask, following him to the kitchen.
He opens a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. "This, probably."
"I'm usually a bourbon or tequila girl," I admit, enjoying his surprised expression. "But since I have to drive home, water is fine."
"Noted," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with ice water, then pours himself two fingers of whiskey. "For future reference."
My heart does a little flip at the implication that there will be a future reference. Hudson hands me the water glass, our fingers brushing momentarily. That familiar electricity sparks between us, and I see from his quick intake of breath that he feels it too.
