Page 13 of Ablaze

Meg mumbles something apologetically again before shuffling over to the bar. Dean steps out of her way, allowing her access to the coffee machine, and I follow him before making my way to the back room.

I wave to him, whispering, “See you later,” and step inside the back room. I take a long inhale before thinking about everything I have to do. God, I really do need more reliable help.

Just as I’m about to open the fridge, the double doors to the back room open and Dean pokes his head inside. “For the record, there’s never a time when my smile isn’t real around you.”

The double doors swing when he retreats, leaving me to ruminate on his words. It’s when I finally get my bearings and am rolling out the dough I just took out of the fridge that I allow myself to smile.

Smile for real.

Chapter Five

DEAN

I shut the driver’s side door to my truck before traipsing to the back to grab the large box from my truck bed, smiling to myself about what her reaction is going to be when she sees it. She’s a shy little thing, but hopefully, this will pry her from her comfort zone.

Carrying the box and placing it on the front porch, I ring the doorbell and wait. Their sweet voices come through the door, and I hear her giggle. Seems my goddaughter had a good nap.

The door swings open, and Jane’s soft green eyes turn up at the corners, just like her lips. She looks thinner than the last time I saw her, practically swimming in her clothes. “Hi!”

My smile follows hers before landing on the girl I’m here to see, the one who just turned two last week.

“Hi,” I respond to Jane, not taking my eyes off the doe-eyed toddler with the cherub cheeks in her arms. “Hey, kitty-cat! You remember me?”

Jane looks at Catherine, placing a kiss on her temple, while Catherine observes me guardedly. It’s only been a month since I visited, but her suspicious gaze says she can’t quite place where she’s seen me before.

“Babycakes, you remember Uncle Dean, don’t you?” Jane asks her, swiping a crumb off Catherine’s face. “What do you say we invite him in?”

Jane gestures to me, and I lug the big box inside, winking at Catherine. She studies me even more intently from her mom’s arms.

I take off my boots in the foyer, and a twinge of something thorny pricks my chest as I take in the beautiful baby girl in Jane’s arms. I swallow, kneeling down, trying not to let my smile waver and focus on unboxing her toy. She looks so much like Zander–the same light brown eyes, the same mix of honey and cinnamon locks–I don’t know how Jane doesn’t break down at the sight of her every single day.

Maybe she does . . .

I turn the box so Catherine can see the picture of the wooden horse on it and raise my brows. “How about we open your new toy, kitty-cat?”

Catherine points her little index finger at the box before placing it between her gums. Her mom puts her down on her feet, and Catherine slowly waddles over to where I am, pushing through her shyness. “What that?”

My smile widens as I pull out the wooden horse. “A horse. Want to ride it?”

She nods enthusiastically, closing the space between us while I take off the additional wrapping around it. Even her energy–the way she lights up when she sees something she wants, and the way her eyes glitter, her body almost trembling with excitement–is the same as Zander’s.

Jane watches us from a distance. “What do you say, babycakes? Can you say thank you?”

“Tank ooh,” Catherine repeats, flashing me a few of her tiny teeth.

I raise my arm, urging her closer. “Want me to put you on it?”

She waddles to me, her eyes swinging from me to the horse. “Put you onut.”

I chuckle, lifting her before getting her situated on the horse and sitting at her side to make sure she doesn’t fall. Catherine grabs hold of the little handles sticking out from the horse’s head and giggles when her toes reach the ground and she realizes it rolls.

“I have a feeling that’s going to become her favorite toy,” Jane says softly.

I regard Jane’s stained T-shirt over ripped black leggings, messy ponytail, and the dark circles under her eyes. Even if I looked closely, I’d be hard-pressed to find the woman who once refused to be seen without makeup, perfectly fitted clothes, and a manicure.

And it’s not just the fact that she’s now a widowed single mom of a two-year-old; it’s the way her voice sounds, her entire demeanor. She’s barely a whisper of her former self. Where she once used to be outspoken, outgoing, and cheerful, now I doubt she’s even stepped out of her house since the last time I visited.

It’s as if even after almost three years, she can’t move forward.

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