Page 34 of Wishing Hearts

“Winnie,” Harrison calls out. “Dinner’s ready.”

Half a minute later, as Harrison is setting food onto the table, little feet pad into the kitchen. Winnie looks up at me, eyes light and hair all in disarray. “That’s my seat,” she says matter-of-factly.

I look over at the chair I’m standing beside before pulling it out. “All right, li’l miss. So, where’s my seat?”

Winnie thinks this over as she gets into her chair. Finally, she points to a spot across the table. “You can sit there.”

Harrison snorts quietly, and I round the table, sitting down where Winnie deemed appropriate. Tigger settles on the floor next to Winnie’s chair, out of sight, and Harrison sits at the end of the table between Winnie and me. We all look at one another before Harrison says, “Dig in.”

Winnie goes straight for the bowl of fruit while Harrison holds the spoon for the mac and cheese my way. I dish some up as Harrison helps himself to salad.

“So, Winifred,” I say, glancing at the little girl. “D’you go to school?”

She looks at me like the question is preposterous. “Of course.”

Hey, at least she’s talking to me. That’s a start, right?

“What grade?” I ask as Harrison dishes more food onto his daughter’s plate.

She shoves a strawberry in her mouth. “Fifth.”

I whistle. “Next, you’ll be on to middle school.”

She blinks at me, not saying anything else.

“Winnie, did you get your homework done at Grandma and Grandpa’s?” Harrison asks.

She nods, poking her fork into her mac and cheese, trying, I think, to separate the specks of green broccoli out from the noodles.

I, on the other hand, love it. I’ve never had mac and cheese with broccoli. There’s even some sliced tomatoes and crispy bread crumbs on top.

“This is really good,” I tell Harrison.

He gives me a little smile. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Sam,” Winnie speaks up, sounding quite serious. “Do you have kids?”

Well, shit.

“No, I don’t,” I answer.

Winnie hums. “Why not?”

I huff a laugh. “Never had the chance, I guess.”

I’m not about to explain to Winnie that with the type of partners I choose, pregnancy isn’t even an option.

She eats another piece of fruit. “Do you like kids?”

I finish chewing my bite of food slowly, eyeing the small human. She’s staring right back. Harrison, I note, is staying quiet.

Finally, I answer, “No, hate ’em.”

Winnie looks affronted. “Why?”

“They’re always sticky, and they don’t like vegetables,” I say, spearing a piece of my broccoli.

Winnie’s brows draw together as she looks down at her plate. “I’m not sticky,” she says sullenly, adding, at a mumble, “and I like veggies.”

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