Curves for the Single Dad

“But not until I binge watch a few more episodes.” The only good thing about having time off work was that I felt more than prepared for the detective’s exam and I had plenty of time to catch up on all the TV shows I missed out on from working and being too tired to commit to a show. It had been a nice change of pace for the first few days.

Now I was cranky and stir-crazy and ready to return to work.

As community outreach coordinator which basically made me Google but in a much uglier uniform.

That probably explained why I nearly collapsed under the weight of my own body when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting visitors but I hoped Mara had taken pity on me and stopped by, with or without goodies. Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t the two smiling faces staring at me now in matching ugly holiday sweaters. “Isn’t it just a few weeks too early for those?”

Lila and Chris flashed identical smiles at the same time and shook their heads. “It’s never too early to start celebrating.” Chris flashed that irresistible smile and his scent wafted to me on a breeze I couldn’t ignore.

“We brought you dinner!”

My lips twitched at Lila’s exuberance and I folded y arms. “What did you bring?”

“Pizza,” she said, slightly subdued. “And wings! Spicy and barbecue.”

“Who can say no to pizza and wings?” I took a step back so that Lila could enter and she stepped up to me, confusion swimming in her hazel eyes. “You comin’ in?”

“Are you mad at me, Tara?”

I sucked in a shocked breath at her words and spared a moment to glare at her father. “Not at all. Why would you ask that?” I knew exactly why and I hated myself for even putting doubt in her little head. “Come on inside so we can have a little chat.” I took Lila’s hand and left the door open for Chris to follow.

Or not.

It wasn’t entirely his fault, I knew that. But by trying to honor his wishes I’d made Lila feel insecure and that was never my intention. “I thought maybe you didn’t want me to come over anymore.”

“That’s not it at all.” I nodded for her to sit on the sofa and took the seat beside her. “When the body is injured or sick it needs rest. Lots and lots of rest to heal and since I was hurt in two place, I was very tired and sometimes that makes me grumpy. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Promise?”

I nodded. “I’ll pinky swear if that’s what you need.”

“That’s okay. Can I have a hug?”

“You can have two,” I told her and opened my arms for the energetic little girl. Her little body felt so good in my arms and I held her tight, deciding in that moment that no matter what Chris said, I couldn’t let Lila down. I didn’t want to and I wouldn’t. “Yeah, that feels good.”

“I made you something, Officer Tara.”

“I think you can just call me Tara now, Lila.”

“Okay, Tara! I made you something.” She looked around the sofa realizing she didn’t have her mysterious gift with her and pouted. “Daddy, where is it?”

“Probably in the car where you left it. Go get it, my hands are full.” He held the pizza and wings, and what my nose strongly suspected were garlic sticks on top of the stack.

“You can set those in the kitchen unless you’re staking your claim early?”

His gaze darkened. “I’m thinking about it, but that’s for another time.”

Okay, that was about as clear as mud. “So what are you doing here, really?”

“Not happy to see me, Tara?”

I shrugged. “More curious about why you keep showing up after telling me you didn’t want your kid around me.”

“Yeah, about that,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with an embarrassed grin. “I may have been wrong about that.”

“Wrong?”

“Hasty is probably a better word.”

I was curious to hear more but I shook my head because he wasn’t wrong. “I don’t think you were, actually.”

Chris blinked and opened his mouth, probably to argue his point, when Lila bounded back in with a big rectangle weighing her down. “Let me help you with that, sweetheart.”

I sat up a little taller at the back side of the artwork, waiting impatiently as I watched Chris maneuver the oversized frame until it was facing me in all its glory. I gasped. Not only was the drawing impeccably done, drawn with a hand far more skilled than I expected of an eight year old, but the drawing itself rendered me mute.

“You like it Tara?”

Did I like it? That was the question, wasn’t it? “Of course,” was about all I could manage as I took in the photo of me dressed up in a long red evening gown, Chris beside me in suit. Both of us stood, kissing, under the mistletoe. “You drew this yourself?”