Page 69 of Home Field Advantage
She cares about Sage.
She taught me how to braid my daughter’s hair.
Something was there between us.
I put my phone face down on the counter, leaving the conversation with the boys at that, because how do I explain something I haven’t figured out myself? All I know is the truth I sent them.
Moving to turn the coffee maker on, Sage enters the kitchen.
“Morning, Daddy,” she says with Mr. Marshmallow in one hand, rubbing her eyes with the other. “I’m starving.”
“Good morning, bug. What do you want today?”
She giggles. “It’s Sunday, Daddy. That means we get the epic breakfast day.”
“Ohhh.” I laugh. “You want the new Sunday special, huh?”
“Yep. My breakfast belly is ready for all of it. Mr. Marshmallow’s tummy is grumbling too.”
“One Sunday special coming right up.”
“Can I play that block game on your phone and try to beat your high score while I wait?”
“Of course. But you’ll never beat my high score.”
“That’s what you think,” she teases as she swipes my phone from the counter.
It’s wild to me how kids know how to work technology more than I do most days. It shocks me a bit because Sage isn’t usually the kid who likes to sit on the tablet and play games, or watch television, for that matter. She’s more of a creative kid. Always drawing, coloring, or making up games in her room with her stuffed animals. Her brain has fascinated me since she’s been living with me. I knew she was special, but seeing her in her element daily, I notice it much more.
I move easily around the kitchen, grabbing the pancake mix, eggs, bacon, sausage, and strawberries to slice up. On our first Sunday here, I made her a mini breakfast buffet in the kitchen. It’s become our little Sunday tradition on the weekends she stays because April has to work a certain number of weekend shifts.
I successfully juggle all the breakfast pieces at once, taking the last pancake off the griddle and placing it on a plate. Moving everything to our small kitchen table, I feel the ache in my shoulder again. It’s a constant pain that comes and goes, but when a flare-up happens, it’s almost debilitating. I wouldn’t call it that this morning, but the change in the weather here probably isn’t helping.
“I’m going to grab some medicine quickly,” I tell Sage, grabbing my mug of coffee to take with me. “You can start making your plate.”
“Yummm,” she says, stabbing a fork into a pancake and bringing it to her plate.
I head to the bathroom connected to my room, grab an ibuprofen to take before it gets worse, and then take a moment to do a few shoulder stretches I learned in physical therapy.
Once I enter the kitchen, I’m stopped dead in my tracks when I see Poppy standing there with wide eyes that rake down my bare chest. I tighten my grip on the mug because I feel it slipping through my fingers under the weight of her stare.
It’s the same way I look at her every time I see her.
She shakes her head as if to snap her out of whatever daze she was in, quickly turning her head to the side and covering her eyes with her hand. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Poppy,” I smirk, entering the kitchen fully and grabbing a plate. I don’t even bother going to grab a T-shirt, because even though I told myself I should stay away, I love how flustered she is right now. “Do you want some breakfast? I made plenty.”
Poppy looks at me, to my door, and then back to me as if questioning what she should do next. My eyes narrow in confusion, and her nervous body language forces me to replay the last time we were together.
Did I do something wrong?
Is this confirmation that shedidwant something to happen between us?
No, that can’t be it.
She made it clear she wanted to remain professional.
“No. I don’t want to impose. I’m just here to drop off the puzzle. I sent you a text asking if now was a good time to come over, and you said yes.” Her eyes trail me up and down, and it sends blood rushing to the one place it should not be rushing to right now. “So I came right over.”
