“Nicky, I’m gonna have to let you go. Emma wants me to braid her hair, and I need to keep an eye on dinner.”
Nick barks out a laugh. “You’re cooking?”
“Yes, I’m cooking,” I admonish. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
Had anyone told me a few months ago that I’d be making dinner for three kids and looking forward to their dad coming home, I’d have laug
hed in their face. And yet, here I am—putting together a meal and glancing out the front window every few minutes for signs of Grayson.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”
“Ha. Ha. Funny.”
“Take a picture of the food or it didn’t happen.”
“I am not taking a picture.”
“You ordered takeout, didn’t you?”
My jaw drops. I can’t believe he doesn’t believe me. “No, I didn’t order takeout.”
“Picture.” Nick hangs up.
I open the oven, take a picture, and send it to him.
Now do you believe me?
He replies right away.
That actually looks really good.
I smile smugly and turn around to find Emma clutching a brush in one hand and ponytail holders in the other.
“Come on, princess, let’s go do your hair.”
We sit on the couch, and I part her hair down the middle, securing one side so it doesn’t get in my way.
“My mommy used to bwaid my hair,” Emma says as I start working on the right side.
“She did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How do you know?” Jack snarls from his spot on the floor. “You don’t even remember her.”
“Do too!” Emma shouts, waking Henry.
He pushes himself into a sitting position and looks around the room with sleepy eyes.
“Do not! You were too young to remember that.”
Emma’s bottom lip wobbles. Her big eyes look up at me.
Crap.
I reach for Emma as she bursts into tears and pull her against me, braid be damned.
“I wemember,” she cries against my chest.