Page 74 of Open Arms

“Can’t get much higher without sprouting wings,” I chuckled, securing the ends with a bit of tape.

“Looks good,” I said, stepping down and surveying the room through her proud gray eyes—eyes that saw magic in the mundane.

“Chloe’s gonna love it!” Abby clapped, hopping around the table draped in a kaleidoscope of plates and napkins she’d chosen herself—one pink, one blue, no two the same.

“Sure will, jellybean.” I ruffled her curls, heart swelling at the thought of Chloe seeing it all.

I picked out a tune, some old country song my grandad used to sing. It hummed in my throat as I filled the vase with water,arranging the fresh flowers we’d picked up from Eryn’s stand. Daisies, sunflowers, a few sprigs of baby’s breath. Simple. Bright.

“Like a garden!” Abby squealed, nose buried in the blooms.

“Exactly like a garden,” I agreed. The scent of spring filled the room.

“Careful now, don’t want you sneezin’ all over the place before Chloe gets here,” I teased, but damn if I wouldn’t welcome even that. A sign of life, of family.

“Is she gonna stay forever, Daddy?” Abby asked, peeking over the rim of the vase with eyes wide and hopeful.

“Hope so, Abby. I really do.” The words were soft, more prayer than promise. But they were true. Every single one.

The kitchen looked ready. Ready for laughter, stories, new memories. Ready for Chloe. Abby’s excitement was catching, and I couldn’t help grinning like a fool.

“Any minute now,” I whispered. Abby nodded, her small hand finding mine, squeezing tight. We were a team, the two of us. And soon, hopefully, there’d be three.

Abby tugged at the hem of my shirt, her small fingers curled with urgency. “Daddy, daddy, can we make pancakes for Chloe? She loves ‘em!”

“Sure thing, bug.” I chuckled, reaching for the flour and eggs. “Pancakes it is.”

Her face lit up like the Fourth of July as we gathered everything we needed. Milk, butter, and vanilla joined the lineup on the counter. She bounced on her toes, ready to dive into our culinary adventure.

“Big scoop, Daddy!” she instructed, as I measured out the flour, watching her sprinkle in a pinch of salt with exaggerated care.

“Perfect,” I said, whisking the dry ingredients before makinga well in the center. Abby poured in the milk, a bit splashing over the side, but that was part of the fun.

“Oopsie daisy!” she giggled, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Adds character,” I agreed, winking at her.

With the batter smooth and ready, I ladled it onto the hot griddle, the sizzle filling the kitchen with a warm, homely sound. As the edges bubbled and the aroma of cooking pancakes filled the air, I leaned against the counter, watching the golden circles form.

We’d come a long way since Chloe’s rescue. From the endless nights of worry to the first time she smiled again, each moment stitched into the fabric of our lives. And now, here we were, our little family growing, healing together. She was due to move out of the cottage and into our home officially today.

Cementing us as a family.

I flipped a pancake, lost in thought. Whittier Falls, always a place of refuge, had become something more—a home, not just for Abby and me, but for Chloe too. Her laughter, once rare and precious, had begun to echo through the halls more freely.

“Is it ready yet?” Abby’s voice pulled me from my reverie, her eagerness contagious.

“Almost, kiddo.” I plated the first few pancakes and glanced at the clock. Any minute now, Chloe would walk through that door, and I couldn’t stop the swell of anticipation in my chest.

“Wait ’til she sees this.” Abby beamed, and I nodded, my heart agreeing with every unspoken word.

“Best welcome home breakfast ever,” I promised, and it wasn’t just about the food. It was about us—all of us—finding our path forward, together.

Abby’s little fingers worked the crisp white napkin with a furrow of concentration etching her brow. “Daddy, watch!” Hervoice was a whisper of excitement, a conspiratorial giggle barely contained as she manipulated the fabric.

“Show me, bug,” I said, leaning against the counter, my arms crossed in anticipation.

With one last deft twist, she transformed the square into an intricate flower, petals fanned out like a blooming lily. She placed it gently beside the colorful plate designated for Chloe, her small face beaming up at me, seeking approval.

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