Page 27 of Open Arms

“Deal.” I set her back down, my heart a tug-of-war of emotions. Relief that she was happy. Concern for how much Chloe’s presence meant to both of us. And something else. Something deeper that I wasn’t ready to name.

“Can we cook together again tomorrow, Chloe?” Abby asked, looking between us with hopeful eyes. Tonight was Friday, which meant Chloe was technically off tomorrow. I was going to step in, so Chloe wouldn’t feel obligated, but she answered before I could.

“Of course, Abby. We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” Chloe glanced at me, her blue eyes holding a silent conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready to have.

“Best team ever!” Abby cheered, running back to the stove, but stopping at a safe distance.

Watching them, a quiet happiness settled over me, but it was threaded with an awareness of the fragile line I was treading. This was about Abby, not the way Chloe’s presence seemed to fill the empty spaces in the house, in our lives. Not about the warmth that wasn’t just from the oven every time she looked my way.

“Looks like I came home to the best part of the day,” I said, and I meant it. Abby’s joy was infectious, and watching the two of them together had become my (secret) favorite daily ritual.

“Hey, Abby, how about we make tonight a movie night?” I suggested, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “You can pick the film, and we’ll have dinner in the living room. Like a picnic, but with a princess or two.”

Abby’s face lit up like I’d just handed her a golden ticket. “Yes! I know just the movie!” she called out, running from the room. “It’s my favorite!”

“Sounds perfect.” I caught Chloe’s eye, giving her a smile that I hoped read as grateful rather than anything . . . more complicated.

“Go on and get set up. We’ll be right behind you,” Chloe called out to Abby.

“Thanks, Chlo,” I said, as soon as Abby was out of earshot. “For everything this week.”

“Happy to help,” she replied, a hint of color rising to her cheeks.

“Alright, I’m going to grab a quick shower and then I’ll help you set up.” My gaze lingered on Chloe for a moment longer than necessary before I turned to head upstairs. The sound of their laughter followed me, and I had to remind myself to focus on Abby. Don’t dwell on how right it felt having Chloe around.

A plate balanced on my knee, I took a bite of the spaghetti that Chloe had taught Abby to make. The sauce was bursting with flavor.

“Damn sure better than any of them jars I have in the pantry,” I said to Chloe while Abby happily focused on the movie.

On the TV screen, the sword-wielding princess defied another suitor, and Abby hooted with laughter.

“See, daddy? She doesn’t need a prince!” Abby declared with the certainty of a child who believed in the power of magic and self-rescue.

“Looks like she can handle herself just fine.” I agreed, my eyes inadvertently seeking out Chloe. Our glances collided, and something unspoken zinged between us. I quickly refocused on my daughter, who was oblivious to the silent exchange, her attention wholly on the daring princess.

Chloe tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and laughed softly at a scene, and I found myself watching her more than the movie. The light from the TV flickered across her features, highlighting the scar that traced her temple—a stark reminder of a trauma she’d endured. But there was strength there, too, in the curve of her jaw and the set of hershoulders. Strength that resonated with something deep inside me.

“Oops, sorry,” Chloe murmured as our hands brushed when she reached for the garlic bread at the same time I did.

“No worries,” I said, ignoring the fact that the brief contact sent a jolt up my arm. I adjusted my position, trying to appear more engrossed in the movie and less aware of every little thing Chloe did.

“Look, Daddy, she’s fighting the dragon now!” Abby pointed excitedly at the screen, pulling me back into the moment.

“Wow, she sure is brave,” I commented, though my words felt like they were meant for more than just the fictional princess.

Eventually, the credits rolled, the last notes of the adventurous score fading into a quieter song. Abby’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm against my side, her small hand clutching the stuffed horse she’d insisted on bringing downstairs. She’d fought the good fight to stay awake through the entire movie but succumbed to sleep just as the princess reclaimed her kingdom.

“Time for bed, little cowgirl,” I whispered, lifting her gently into my arms. Her head nestled into the crook of my neck, soft curls tickling my skin. I carried her upstairs, steps slow and even to keep from waking her. The nightlight cast a warm glow across her room as I laid her down, tucking the covers snugly around her.

“Sweet dreams, Abby,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her response was a contented sigh, fingers still wrapped tight around her plush friend. I lingered at the doorway, watching her peaceful face. These were the moments that made all the hard work worth it.

As I made my way back downstairs, the clinking of dishes pulled me from my reverie. Chloe stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing away at a skillet that had seen better days.

“Hey, Chlo, you don’t need to do that,” I said, leaning against the kitchen entryway.

She glanced over her shoulder, sending me a wry smile. “I can’t very well let you do all the work when we made the mess. Besides, it’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic, huh?” I chuckled, crossing the room to stand beside her. “Well, if scrubbing dishes is therapy, then I reckon we might need to get you a hobby.”

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