His words curled and curved through my body, grabbing hold of me.
The last thing I expected when I knocked on your door was to find someone like you.
That was what I wanted to say. But, the words wouldn’t come.
I was saved from an immediate reply by the arrival of our food. After a quick check on whether we had everything, we were left to ourselves and I finally grew a pair and asked the question about something I hadn’t realized was even bothering me until now.
“Can I ask you something?” I met his eyes.
“Anything.”
I licked my lips. “Am I…” Deep breath. “Am I the first? Since she died?”
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded his head. Just once. “I’m a father before anything else. I wasn’t looking to meet anyone when I met you.”
I swallowed. “I get that. I was just wondering.”
He smiled wryly. “Well, I’m so glad we got to have a nice, light conversation over lunch.”
I stared at him for a moment, my lips twitching, then started to laugh. “You’re the one who wanted this chat.”
“True. It escalated, though.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
He picked up his fork and let his lips curl into a small smile. “I hope not.”
***
Ellie stared at me. “Are you done yet?”
I glanced up into the doorway. “Nope. Not quite.”
She sighed and leaned against the frame. “Oh, gosh. It’s taking so wong.”
I fought back laughter. “I’m sorry. Maybe three more days. Four at most. Is that okay for you?”
“Can’t you do it kicker?”
“’Fraid not. I wish I could.” She had no idea.
“Dat’s okay.” She put her hands in the pockets of her skirt. “Daddy’s working and Ewi is asweep on the sofa. I bored.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Okay. Did you want to help me?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m building your toybox. See the pink lid?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Can I do some scwewing?” Hope flashed across her face.
“Sure. Come sit.” I waved her over. “Here’s a screwdriver for you.”
“Oh. It’s pink,” she breathed.
“They’re all pink.” I grinned and moved the toolbox between us. “See?”
“Wow.” Wonder crossed her little face. “Dat’s ‘mazin’.”
I grinned.
“How do you know which one you need?”
“Which screwdriver?” I clarified.
She nodded, clutching hold of the handle so tight her knuckles went white.
“The screws are different. Look.” I picked up one of the crosshead screws and showed it to her. “If you look the head of your screwdriver, it matches the shape. See?”
She made a great show of looking at both the screw and the screwdriver.
“If you put it in, it should fit.” I pinched the sharp end of the screw and held it out to her. “Try it.”
She did just that, poking it. Except I’d given her one that was a size too big.
“Oh, hold on. That’s too big. They come in different sizes, see?” I pointed at the screwdriver. “You need a smaller one.”
“Can I get it?” she asked.
“Sure. See if you can find the next size down.”
“Okay.” She rifled through them, checking each one until she came to a flathead screwdriver. “It’s different.” She held it up.
“Yep, there are two types. I don’t think I have any screws that it would fit, but not all screws have the cross. Some have one line, and that’s what you’d use a flathead—that’s what it’s called—screwdriver for. But, if you have a cross screw and don’t have the right crosshead screwdriver, you can use a flat one.”
“Weawy?”
“Yep. Poke the screw with a smaller, flat one.”
She got one of the small ones out and did it. More delight crossed her face. “Okay. I need a cwoss one, doe, wight?”
I smiled. “Yes, you need a cross one. Did you find it yet?”
She nodded. “You sittin’ on it.”
I plucked the screwdriver from next to my thigh with a grin. “Here you go.” I put the screw in the pre-drilled hole and twisted it a few times. “Okay, come here.” I patted my thighs, and she came to sit on me. “Now, very carefully, put the screwdriver in the screw and twist it clockwise, okay?”
“Why cockwise?”
I bit back a laugh. “Clockwise is to the right. That’s how you tighten screws. There’s even a rhyme my daddy taught me when I was little.”
“What is it?”
“Righty tighty, lefty loosey.”
“Wighty tighty, wefty woosey.”
It had a certain charm coming from her.
“That’s it. Turn right to tighten, and left to loosen.”
“Okay. Can I do it now?”
“Sure. Do it as tight as you can.”
She leaned forward and, oh so carefully, inserted the head of the screwdriver into the screw. She turned the screwdriver, sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth. I leaned around to see her face—she wore the mask of complete concentration.
Tongue out, eyes narrowed, brows drawn together.
It was the most adorable thing.
“Dere,” she said, sitting back. “I did it.”
“Amazing job!” I squeezed her lightly. “Can I please have the screwdriver to check how tight it is?”