Page 13 of Never Let You Go

“Ooooh, I love the glitter! Isn’t it the best? You look like a fairy!”

Taking a deep breath, she straightens herself off her father’s chest and shows me her nails with matching glitter.

“Oh, wow. Love it,” I say, gently holding the tip of her hand in mine.

She stretches from her father’s arms and reaches for my braid.

A smile warms Christopher’s face, and he winks at me. “Time to set the table,” he says to Skye as he sets her down.

She puts her slipper back on and starts tiptoeing from a cupboard to the table as Christopher busies himself at the stove.

“I’ll help you if you tell me where to find everything,” I offer.

She rushes her movements, proud of her responsibility. Christopher stifles a smile as she sets three plates on the table.

“You can grab the glasses,” he says to me while whipping oil, vinegar, and spices in a salad bowl. “Top of that cupboard over there. Grab two wine glasses for us. Skye has her own tumbler.”

Three plates, three glasses. So it’s just him and his daughter.

I can’t help the flutter inside my body, but quickly shut it down.

My reaction is all kinds of wrong.

Christopher sets the Dutch oven on the table, his forearms flexing slightly, a vein standing out against his strong wrist.

He plops Skye on a regular chair boosted by a pair of thick cookbooks. “Please,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him. Still standing, he leans over my side to pour wine in my glass, and I’m hugged by his warmth and scent—fresh laundry and something woodsy—and instantly feel both relaxed and incredibly wound up.

We feast on the stew that has been making my stomach rumble for far too long. The meat melts in my mouth and is perfectly completed by farfalle al dente and a tossed salad with homemade vinaigrette. It’s touchingly clear from Christopher’s ease in the kitchen that he cooks everything from scratch, and if that doesn’t make a woman melt, I don’t know what will.

How is it that he’s single?

“So. You met Sophie,” Christopher says.

“I looooove Sophie,” Skye cuts in. “She writes fairy tales.”

“Is that right? That is so cool!”

“She also reads stories at the library. I love story time. Do you like story time, Alek-zandra?”

Story time brings up memories from before. From when Mom was still alive. “I used to love story time.” It’s a bittersweet memory, so I snuff it. “What else do you like doing?” My eyes dart between Skye and Christopher.

“Hockey,” they both answer and laugh at the same time, their eyes dancing.

“Jinx! You owe me two stories, Daddy.”

Christopher clutches his chest. “Two?”

We all laugh together, and my eyes well up at the easiness going around the table. “I think I saw an ice rink in the park. Is that where you play hockey?”

“That’s The Green. It’s just for fun,” Skye says.

“The Green?” I ask.

“It’s really white right now.” She nods, like she knows where I’m coming from. “Did you bring your skates?”

“The Green is the park in the middle of town,” Christopher explains. “They flood it in the winter to create an ice rink, but it’s only recreational. Hockey happens at The Arena, outside of town. Just a couple of miles after the covered bridge.”

“Did you bring your skates?” Skye repeats.

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