Page 43 of Wishing Hearts

“All right,” I say, hoping my tone lets him know I have no problem with that.

“Sex, too,” he adds, pressing the dough down with the heels of his hands.

That gives me pause, and Harrison senses it. He looks over at me again.

“You’re the first person I’ve been with in four years,” he says.

Oh wow. That’s…wow. I can’t deny I get a little thrill at that fact, and yet…

“Damn it, Harrison,” I mutter before sparing a glance out the window to confirm Winnie’s whereabouts. “I wasn’t gentle with you.”

“I didn’t want you to be,” he replies.

I groan, rubbing my eyes. “I fucked you over the hood of a goddamn ridin’ lawn mower. It was dusty and dirty and smelled like motor oil. There’s nothin’ romantic about that.” Christ. “We’re doin’ it in a bed next time.”

Harrison’s eyes are full of mirth when I drop my hand from my face. “You won’t hear me complaining about that,” he says. “But Sam? You’re doing just fine romancing me.”

“Yeah?” I ask, a smile blooming over my face.

Harrison nods, patting the layered biscuit dough flat. He grabs a knife and cuts it into squares instead of circles. “Get me a sheet pan from below the oven?” he asks.

I nod and do as he says. Harrison rounds the pieces of dough with his hands before placing them on the sheet pan, and then he washes up in the sink. I know Harrison said our dates would be like this most of the time—fit into his lifestyle with Winnie. And I don’t mind that one bit. I like that. But it does leave me wondering what Harrison would choose to do if he could.

“Hey, Harrison?”

He turns off the faucet, back shaking the tiniest bit before he lets out a happy hum and turns my way. “Yeah, Sam?”

“If you had one night to do anythin’ you wanted, no responsibilities in your way, what would you do?”

Harrison thinks that over for a long moment, chewing his lip as he stares at a spot over my shoulder. Finally, those light blue eyes meet my gaze, and he says, “I’d go get a beer.”

“Really?” I ask with a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling with me. “I haven’t gone out to a bar in so damn long. And I would’ve with you in Plum Valley if we hadn’t, you know…”

I nod. If we hadn’t gone back to his place instead.

“It sounds so simple,” he goes on. “But… You become a parent, and everything in your life rearranges. There’s always this other person whose priorities come first. When Winnie was a baby, I couldn’t even pee when I wanted to. I didn’t dare chance it if I was feeding her or rocking her to sleep because if I stopped, all hell would break loose. It wasn’t worth it, so my bladder came second, not first. I never realized, before becoming a dad, how much of my own independence I would be sacrificing on a daily basis. It’s all the tiny things you take for granted that you can never get back.”

Harrison licks his lips, and I can tell there’s more he wants to say, so I keep quiet, watching him gently.

“I wouldn’t erase my daughter,” he says vehemently, even as his voice shakes a little. “I would never undo Winnie. But I’m no longer just Harrison. The moment she came into my world, I became a dad, first and foremost. That’s who I am now. My needs, my wants, they come second to her. So yeah, a beer isn’t much, but it’s the simplest things I miss the most. Using the bathroom when I want to. Eating the last slice of cake. Going to the bar.” After a moment, he adds, quietly, “Sex.”

My throat clicks when I swallow, and Harrison’s eyes track me as I close the distance between us. I take his face in my hands, fingers curling at the back of his neck. Harrison’s mouth pops open the tiniest bit.

“I think,” I say gently, placing a kiss on his cheek, right above my thumb, “you are a wonderful father.” I move to his other cheek, kissing there, too. “I also think you deserve to come first every once in a while.”

Harrison’s hands encircle my wrists. “I can’t,” he says.

My breath stutters a little, and I pull back to look Harrison in the eyes. “If you can’t put yourself first, let me.”

He sucks in a breath. “Sam—”

“Daddy,” Winnie calls out a second before the back door slams.

Harrison stiffens, and I let him go, taking a step back as his ten-year-old mini-me comes racing into the room, dog beside her. Both are caked in dirt, and I cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

“We got a little messy,” Winnie says, “but it wasn’t my fault, I swear. Tigger wanted to investigate some chirping behind the bushes. I just followed to make sure she didn’t get into trouble.” She pauses. “Are we in trouble?”

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