Page 15 of The Omega's Beary Merry Christmas

But now that I knew he was single—widowed—at least there was hope.

Chapter Nine

Conrad

I slept far better than I thought I would, my shoulders feeling lighter than they’d been in a long time. Here we were in a predicament that, from the outside, probably looked horrible, and yet it felt so right.

On top of all that, there was a peacefulness and quiet unlike anything I’d ever experienced in the city. There were no cars, sirens, people not realizing they were being too loud. Even the animals seemed to get the memo that it was time to be quiet. I loved it.

When I opened my eyes, Natalie wasn’t there. She usually waited for me to come get her in the morning. It wasn’t a rule or anything. She just did it.

I might have been worried that she’d wandered off to find her magical dancing bear if it weren’t for her giggles floating into the room. I got up, half made the bed, and went out to find her sitting at the counter, talking to Bert as he cooked French toast.

“Morning,” I said, giving her a half wave, my voice raspy with sleep.

“Daddy, we’re cooking.” She climbed off her chair and ran to me for a morning hug. “Mr. Bert let me crack the eggs, and I didn’t even get a lot of shells in them.”

It was noted she didn’t say “no shells.”

“Well done. I can’t wait to try it.” I looked at Bert to get a read on whether or not he was okay with her helping.

He was smiling away, flipping the egg-soaked bread.

“Let Daddy go wash up, and I’ll be out to help.”

In the bathroom, I splashed water on my face to wake up a little. I looked far better than I did the night before. I’d caught my image in the mirror as I was getting ready for bed and I didn’teven recognize myself. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do.

Why was I feeling it was so much more than the sleep. Natalie was happy, Bert was welcoming, and, for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was letting my sweet girl down.

Refreshed and ready to start my day, I joined them in the kitchen. Natalie was sprinkling something onto the French toast, under the guidance of Bert.

“Do you think that’s enough?” she asked, her expression serious. She wasn’t taking her responsibilities lightly.

“I think it’s perfect,” Bert said. “See why we put the butter on first?”

She nodded up and down. “It’s like syrup now.”

“That’s right, the cinnamon sugar blends with the butter and makes it extra delicious.”

They were so sweet with each other. Bert let her do small tasks that would feel so big to a seven-year-old, like carrying the plates to the table. He was so good with her, and not once did I feel like she was imposing on him.

“What do you think, Daddy?” She watched as I took my first bite.

“I think this might be the best French toast I’ve ever eaten.” I popped another piece into my mouth.

“That’s because Mr. Bert has a secret recipe.” Natalie beamed with pride.

“Oh? Well, maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll tell me what it is.”

“He doesn’t have to.” She tapped her head. “I have it right up here!”

I wasn’t sure what was secret about eggs, vanilla, and milk on bread, but whatever he added, this was exceptional.

“It’s not a secret from you, Conrad,” Bert said gently. “We don’t keep secrets from our parents, right, Natalie?”

“I know,” she said. “He did tell me that.”

“It’s a good rule.” And one we had at home as well.

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