Page 35 of Wishing Hearts

“Do you?” I ask.

She nods resolutely before poking the tiniest-ever broccoli floret onto her fork and stuffing it in her mouth.

“Well, dang,” I say. “Maybe I’m wrong about kids.”

“I think you are,” she says, making a face as she chews. “I mean, some aren’t all that great. Some are difficult.”

Harrison huffs a laugh, and I barely refrain from glancing his way, just to see his smile.

“But I’m not,” Winnie goes on. “And I’m never sticky. Daddy can tell you that.”

“Is that so?” I say, finally looking over at Harrison. His eyes are already on me, full of something vulnerable that makes my chest twinge. Returning my gaze to Winnie, I ask, “Even after cake?”

“Huh?” Winnie asks, perking up, as I knew she would.

I give her an exaggerated shrug. “Well, see, I brought cake. But I dunno if it’s the kind for kids.”

“All kinds of cake are for kids,” Winnie says, turning in her seat and popping up on her knees. She scans the kitchen until she finds the cake box, and then her head whips Harrison’s way.

“Not until after dinner,” he says.

Winnie huffs, but she sits back down, quickly shoveling more fruit into her mouth.

“And some veggies,” Harrison says, brow raised.

She looks incredibly disappointed but eats a cucumber from the mostly untouched salad on her plate.

As Winnie races to finish her food, I ask Harrison a little more about the practice he works at, finding out he deals with small animals at the hospital but is the only veterinarian on staff who also does large animal house calls. He asks a little about my job, too, and I fill him in on what my typical day looks like working for Animal Control.

By the time my plate is empty and our conversation comes to a lull, Winnie is bouncing in her seat.

“Okay,” Harrison says, answering her unspoken question.

Winnie shoots up off her chair, sending it screeching back. Tigger jumps up in surprise, but Harrison gets up at a more sedate pace, chuckling slightly as he follows his daughter over to the counter.

I watch, insides doing all sorts of funny little things, as Harrison helps Winnie cut a portion of cake. He’s so much bigger than her, his body broad and tall and hers slight and almost delicate. And yet there’s no doubt in my mind they’re part of the same whole. A matching set, and they always will be.

It makes me wonder if there’s room for anyone else.

When Winnie shuffles back to the table, a frosting-covered finger in her mouth, I can’t help but smile.

“Want a piece, Sam?” Harrison asks.

“Please.”

Harrison comes back with two small plates and sets one in front of me.

“Winnie,” Harrison says pointedly, interrupting his daughter’s absolute annihilation of the cake on her plate. Girl’s got style.

Winnie slows her eating and looks at me. “Thank you, Sam,” she says politely before going back to her food.

Harrison gives me a small smile. “Thanks, Sam.”

“’Course,” I say, chest warm as I eat my own slice of vanilla cream cake.

When our desserts are finished, Winnie jumps right up and makes her way to the sink, washing her hands for a particularly long time. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of my sticky comment. I help carry dishes to the counter, but before the table is fully cleared, Winnie bounds over.

“Can I show Sam my fort, Daddy?” Winnie asks, much to my, and I think Harrison’s, surprise.

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