Page 66 of Wishing Hearts

Tigger doesn’t answer me, but she does give my arm a big lick. And even though I know it’s selfish, I wish I could stay in this house tonight. Stay right here with Tigger and Winnie and Harrison.

I wish, I wish, I wish.

Chapter 19

Harrison

“Can I put chocolate on these?” Winnie asks.

My lips twitch, but I shoot her a look as I grab the milk from the fridge. “Not this time.”

She sighs, cutting into her French toast. “I bet Sam would let me,” she mumbles, her casual suggestion nearly knocking me on my ass.

“Think so?” I ask, sitting down at the table and filling up her milk glass.

She shrugs, and my mind tumbles over the idea of discussing Sam in a more official manner. Winnie is getting close to him; that’s clear. And at this point, I’m more than certain Sam isn’t flitting out of my life anytime soon. I don’t want him to, either. And yeah, I don’t want Winnie getting hurt. But trust needs to start somewhere.

And I think—possibly—I was using her as an excuse. As a reason for me not to get attached too soon.

Too late for that.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” I start.

But Winnie’s head perks like a meerkat’s, and she hustles onto her knees atop her chair. “Is that Sam?” she asks, looking out the window.

My head whips that way, and my mouth falls open in shock when I spot Sam in the backyard, a tool belt around his waist.

“What’s he doing here?” Winnie asks, her breakfast completely forgotten. She perks up even more as it dawns on her. “Is he finishing my tree fort?”

“Looks like it,” I say slowly, watching Sam check the sturdiness of the posts we put in last weekend.

Winnie slides off her chair, but I hold out a hand.

“Hold on,” I say. “Breakfast first.”

She pouts. “But I wanna see.”

“After breakfast,” I repeat, pointing toward the chair.

Winnie reluctantly scoots back into her seat and shoves a big forkful of French toast into her mouth.

“Besides,” I say, tearing my own gaze away from the man outside, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Winnie looks at me, her mouth stuffed full while she chews, and I nearly roll my eyes, knowing the lack of table manners is her tiny act of rebellion at having her fun squashed.

“You know that Sam has been coming over a lot,” I say, the very evidence of that standing outside.

She doesn’t answer, just keeps chewing. Okay, then.

Blowing out a breath, I go on. “Well, we decided we’d like to be more than friends.”

It’s only a beat before she says, “He’s your boyfriend now?”

“Yes,” I answer. “How do you feel about that?”

She shrugs. “He’s nice, I guess. Nicer than Hank.”

My chest squeezes tight. Hank is the only past boyfriend of mine that Winnie remembers. I’m not sure exactly how many details she can recall of the man himself, but clearly, he made enough of an impression.

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