Page 47 of Bottles & Blades

My giggle bubbles up in my chest, but I don’t let it escape.

The last thing this precocious little munchkin needs is more ammunition.

Stefan isn’t so lucky. His chuckle escapes and I know that Roxie hears it too because her grin is wide as she runs over and hugs her dad around his waist…then shrieks when she’s scooped up and tossed over his tall shoulder.

Still built and strong…just not as much as Jean-Michel.

My stomach fills with butterflies and my first attempt at a turtle looks more like a giraffe, so I shove the thoughts of him down and focus.

Oval for a shell, four little stubby legs, a short, tiny tail.

I finish his little head with a flourish. “Whatcha think, Rox?”

She comes close, stepping up onto the stool that’s next to the stove, head tilting to the side as she studies my handiwork. Eventually, she says, “It’ll do.”

This time my giggledoesescape, but since Stefan is laughing too—the sigh-filled laugh of the parent of a sassy child—I don’t worry too much about giving Rox anymore ammunition. “Glad to hear that,” I tease, waiting until the bubbles form and burst on the surface then carefully flipping my turtle-esque pancake over so the other side can cook.

“Homework, bub,” Stefan says and Roxie’s still young enough to enjoy her math sheet that’s mostly coloring paired with problems that give her the answer to the riddle,Why was six afraid of seven?

The answer being,Because seven, eight, nine.

And did I peek at her sheet and solve it earlier? I sure did.

Mostly because I’m a nerd.

But also because I love those types of puzzles.

“’Kay!” she says, hopping off the stool and running back over to the table.

“I’ll finish that up with her so you have less to do when I head to the game,” Stefan says, his face gentle as he comes to lean against the counter next to me.

“I’m happy to do it with her.”

“I know you are.” He tilts his head to the side, so much like Rox’s action from a few moments before that my belly fills with warmth. “You look tired,” he says quietly. “I can call someone if you need a break.”

“This is my job.”

That tilt holds. “Yeah, it’s your job, Tiff. But you’re family. If the hours you’re pulling are too much with your course load?—”

“They’re not.” God, I’m barely hanging on financially as it is. If I could somehow squeeze more hours out of my schedule to watch Rox I would.

He bumps his shoulder against mine. “I know you know we’ll make it work with your schedule, no matter what.”

“I know.” Same as I won’t take advantage of this man who’s seen me through more than a handful of tough spots. I pour the last of the batter on the griddle. “I just had a late night studying, is all.”

“Your parents?”

I sigh. “Same old. My mom is her bitter, crotchety self, but I can’t get mad at her because her brain isn’t working right. And Dad needed a new medication that I had to go around and around with his insurance to get. You know how it is”—we met in a support group I worked for after he had a health scare not long ago, so when he nods, I know he gets it, has lived the dance between insurance companies and doctors and patient—“and all of that meant I had a late night and an early morning.” I scoop Roxie’s pancakes onto a plate, the rest onto a plate for Stefan, passing both over to him. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch up on sleep tonight and my homework tomorrow.”

He studies me for long enough that I start to get tetchy.

Then he shakes his head ruefully, bumps my shoulder again. “You’ll let me know if that changes?”

I nod. “Of course.”

A sigh. “Or, let me amend, you’ll at least tell me while your head is still above water and not when you’re drowning?”

My stomach clenches.

---