Page 151 of From Rivals to I Do

I walk towards the cabinet to pick out the things I need for the mix. I turn the heat on low.

Charlee breaks some eggs and helps me prepare the mix. Meanwhile, Rayne is sleeping in the front room. She looks like an angel.

“And Charlee seems so happy. It’s melting my heart,” I think to myself.

I step into the living room to see Charlee playing with some crayons and head back to the kitchen to finish pouring some orange juice for her and attempt a

heart-shaped pancake for her.

I have never exactly experienced this feeling of protectiveness before. It’s certainly interesting how this beautiful little girl is making her way into my heart, the

same way her mom walked into my life unexpectedly. In less than two minutes, I finish my hopefully edible creation with fresh blueberries on top of Charlee’s

pancakes.

As I walk back into the living room with a plate of pancakes in my hand, Charlee blurts out something I don’t expect.

“Dad never cooks for me.”

“Maybe he was always busy,” I offer, trying to find an excuse for someone I don’t even know or care about. “Do you miss your dad?” I ask, indulging her in small

talk as I dress her up.

“Yes, but he is very far away, so I just look at his picture anytime I miss him.”

“Does mommy know?”

“No, she doesn’t like him.”

“Will you show it to me, please?” I ask.

She dashes off to a table in the corner of the room and pulls out a photo taken from when she was a child. On it, a man is holding the handles of a baby trolley.

The face feels oddly familiar.

“Do you like my mommy?” The question jolts me back to reality. What does Charlee know about liking someone?

“Yes, I do. Do I have your permission to like your mommy?”

She turns to face me, putting one hand on her hip and the other on her chin, thinking before responding.

“Will you hit her? Or make her cry?” she asks, looking a bit down.

“No, I would never do that to her or you,” I promise.

She eyes me intently for a minute as if to determine whether I’m lying or not before her face lights up with a bright smile.

“Yes, you can, like my mommy.” She raises her hand to give me a high five.

“So, what would you like to do for mommy’s breakfast, my princess?” I say, pretending to bow to her.

“French toastssss!” she yells, stressing the ‘s’.

“French toasts it is.”

I pull out my phone to place an order before we both head into the kitchen. But I can’t shake the memory of the picture from my head.

Rayne is awake by the time we reach her. Charlee runs into her arms and narrates the entire last half-hour to her.

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