Page 73 of Wishing Hearts

“Sam let me use the saw,” she says, and there goes that choking again.

I spin around, and Harrison’s eyes are wide.

“I did not,” I defend, and Winnie starts giggling. Giggling.

Harrison relaxes immediately, failing to hide his smirk as Winnie comes over and steals a plate of food.

“Sam did let me help, though,” she says, walking over to the table and taking a seat. “I got to bring him boards, and he nailed them up. And then I got to stand on the ladder so I could see, but we were careful, Daddy, and Sam held me the whole time. It looks like a real fort now, did you see? And Sam said he could build me a bookcase for inside, which is good, because everyone knows it’s not a fort if you don’t got books.”

Winnie shoves her sandwich in her mouth as soon as she’s done talking, and Harrison looks over at me. Thank you, he mouths. I smile, chest feeling oh so tight again.

“That’s great, Pumpkin,” Harrison says, sitting down. “I’m glad you two got so much done.”

Winnie stops eating long enough to tell her dad about the bird that kept landing on the edge of the treehouse and how we really do need to get that roof up quick, though, or the birds might poop inside, and how gross would that be? She has a point, and I nod along, swinging by the fridge on my way to the table to grab a bag of baby carrots. I put four on my plate, four on Harrison’s, and then four on Winnie’s.

Winnie gifts me with a scowl. “I don’t want carrots, Sam.”

“Then you can give ’em to Tigger,” I tell her, taking my seat.

Winnie stares at me silently as I go about eating my own lunch. Harrison is quiet, but his foot touches mine beneath the table. I shoot him a little smile, appreciative of the fact that Harrison never seems to mind letting me try to work these things out with Winnie on my own.

After a minute, the little girl leans down. The next second, I can hear Tigger chomping up the carrot Winnie gave her. She keeps watching me after that.

Finally, she breaks her silence. “You really don’t care if I don’t eat them?” she asks, sounding frustrated.

“I never said that. I do care,” I tell her, wiping my hand and giving her my full attention. “I care because I want you to be healthy, and eatin’ a rounded diet is part of that. I know you like sandwiches and cake better, but balance is important.” Harrison’s foot shifts against mine again. “But, honey, I’m not gonna force you. And hey, the carrots are good for Tigger, too.”

Winnie’s light blue eyes appraise me for a long moment. Finally, she picks up a carrot and nibbles off a bite, and I go back to my lunch, not wanting her to feel watched as she graciously eats her veggie. Inside, though, I’m pumping my fist.

When Winnie’s plate is clear, she turns to her dad. “Can I be excused?”

Harrison nods, and Winnie hustles off her chair, bringing her plate to the counter. She washes up quickly before skipping out of the room, Tigger on her heels, and then the back door crashes shut.

“I don’t know how you do that, Sam,” Harrison says, shaking his head a little. “I always have to play Bad Cop to get her to eat her vegetables.”

I reach over, giving his arm a squeeze. “You’re not Bad Cop. Just a parent, enforcin’ appropriate rules for his daughter. I can’t make those rules, so I’m just doin’ the best I can with what I’ve got.”

Harrison’s smile is warm. “You’re doing pretty darn good, Sammy.”

I beam, glad he thinks so. Standing up, I grab our empty plates. His words ring in my head, though, so before I pass Harrison, I stop and lean down to whisper in his ear.

“If you wanna play Bad Cop later, though,” I say slowly, “I’m all yours.”

Harrison sucks in a breath and then smacks my ass as I pass him, and I laugh, loading our dishes into the dishwasher.

“Sam,” Harrison says seriously, standing up and following me.

“Yeah, stud?” I turn as he steps close, and his arms circle around my back, front pressed to mine.

“Thank you. For today,” he says. “I feel like I’ve been nothing but a mess in front of you. Scattered and emotional. But you’re still here.”

“’Course I am,” I tell him, wrapping my thumbs in the belt loops at the sides of his hips. “And maybe it’s not such a bad thing, y’know?”

“What’s not?” he asks.

“You bein’ emotional. Maybe that just means you’re processin’ some stuff that’s been buried for a li’l too long.”

Harrison is quiet as he mulls that over. “I don’t want you to leave.”

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