Page 19 of Stick Move

I realize she was in the clique that was cruel to me, but there’s more to this woman than meets the eye. I’ve always believed that. If I didn’t, I never would have stepped in to save her resort, or put my daughter in her hands. The problem is, I don’t think Brighton believes in herself.

“You’re the best, Ms. Brighton. Thank you.” She hugs Charlie again and then goes still, gazing up at Brighton. “I wish you were my mommy.”

On that note, I straighten, and clear my throat. I note the sudden paleness in Brighton’s cheeks as her gaze flies to mine.

“Hey, who’s your new friend?” I ask my daughter.

“Daddy, Daddy. This is Charlie. He’s going to sleep with me tonight.” She holds him for me to see. “Isn’t he cute?”

“He is the cutest dog I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, bending to kiss her forehead.

That’s when something gleams in her eyes. “Maybe now that we live in a house, we can get a real dog.”

Dammit, I should have seen that coming. She’s been asking for a pet for some time now, but my apartment was small, and not pet friendly. It’s not that I don’t want her to have a pet, it’s just that I’m away so much, and I could never put that responsibility on my parents.

“How about we get settled into living here first,” I tell her. “Everything is so new, I think we need to get used to it before bringing a dog home.”

She claps her hands and starts jumping up and down on her chair. Clearly, she took that answer as a yes, and it probably was. It’s so hard to say no to her. As a single dad, I try to make up for the lack of a mother in her life, and I’m not sure this is the best way to go about it.

Brighton grins at me, totally knowing my daughter has me wrapped around her little finger. I ruffle Camryn’s hair. “Why don’t you go put Charlie in your room, and then come back and we’ll put the pepperoni on the pizza.”

“Okay.”

I help Camryn from her chair and she darts out the door and down the hall, her little footsteps stomping on the wood floors.

Once we’re alone, Brighton says, “Charlie is pretty old. You can actually get weighted stuffed animals and weighted blankets now. They help with anxiety and produce calmness. We can search online later if you want.”

“No way is she going to want anything but Charlie now.” I grin, and fix Camryn’s stretched out dough. “But maybe we can look. I could probably use something weighted on top of me.” Brighton arches a brow and I explain, “I’m anxious all the time, worrying that I’m failing Camryn.”

“I understand that. I could use a bit of weight on top of me too.” Her body tightens, and if she thinks I might be picturing my body on top of hers—even though that wasn’t what she was saying at all—she’d be right. “I mean a blanket.”

“I know what you mean.” I reach out and take one of Brighton’s hands in mine. I’m not sure why I’m touching her, or even if it’s appropriate, but I give it a squeeze. “Thank you for Charlie. I didn’t even realize she might be scared.” I shake my head. “What was that I just said about being a failure?”

She snorts out a self-deprecating laugh. “Well, that makes two of us.” I eye her and she gives a fast shake of her head. “No wait, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not a failure at all.” Before I can tell her she’s not a failure either, she speaks. “I’ve been around enough kids to know a thing or two, and this is a big house. I used to be scared at night too, so I get it.”

I lightly brush my thumb over her soft skin, and her chest rises and falls a bit quicker. “Which is why I knew you’d be great with Camryn.”

She nods, skepticism in her eyes as she tugs her hands from mine, and turns back to the dough on the pizza pan. “I’m doing the carnivore for us,” she says, switching subjects. “You look like a guy who likes a lot of meat. I’m doing cheese and pepperoni for Camryn. I hope you don’t mind that I’m doing something different for her. I know some parents don’t like that, and I’m not her parent. I should have asked, but I didn’t think it was that much of a big deal.”

“Hey,” I say quietly and eyes that showcase hurt and insecurity reach mine. “I’m sorry about the mommy comment she made. It upset you. I’ll talk to her about that.”

She shrugs, but a new kind of hurt registers in her eyes. “No. It’s okay. She’s just a little girl. No harm done.” A beat of silence and then, “I can understand her wanting a mommy, though, and I’m sure now that she’s getting older, she’s questioning things.”

“She is, and I’m doing my best to answer without making her feel like she wasn’t wanted.”

“Not easy,” she agrees quietly as she puffs up the edges of the dough.

I take in the tightness in her body. “Not easy at all.”

She reaches for a can opener and is about to open the sauce. “Here I’ll do that. Your hands are full of flour.”

She hands it over, and I glance at her. It’s easy to tell she still has something on her mind. “It’s just…” she begins. “I’ll do my best to care for her, but I can’t be her mother, Noah.” I nod and she continues. “Like I’ve said before, I have no idea how to mother.”

“You don’t want kids of your own someday?”

A sound catches in her throat. “No,” she blurts out quickly.

“Okay.” I clearly hit on a sore spot so I drop the subject as I open the sauce and take the lid off. “I can’t believe you don’t make your own. Feeding us this…canned stuff.”

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