Page 58 of Haunted By the Storm
"Ten?" I gasp in mock horror. "That's practically midnight!"
She giggles, pleased with her late-night rebellion. "I'm starving now though. Can we have breakfast?"
"Of course," I say, moving toward the kitchen. "How about some cereal? We're going to head to our house after breakfast to pick up some of your things."
Emily's eyes widen. "Our house? Are we going home?"
The question hangs in the air, weighted with implication. I glance at Storm, who watches us both with careful attention.
"Not exactly," I say, choosing my words carefully. "We're just going to check on things and get some clothes and toys. There's actually something Storm and I wanted to talk to you about."
Blaze, sensing the seriousness of the conversation to come, stands up from the table. "I should get going," he says. "I’ve got prospect duties to attend to. Thanks for the dinosaur story, Em. Very enlightening."
He gives me a quick hug, claps Storm on the shoulder, and heads out, leaving the three of us alone in the suddenly quiet room.
"Am I in trouble?" Emily asks, her brow furrowing with concern.
"No, honey, not at all," I assure her, guiding her back to the table. "It's actually good news, I think. At least, I hope you'll think it's good news."
Storm joins us, sitting beside me, his presence solid and reassuring. I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain a situation I'm still figuring out myself.
"Emily, you know how Storm has been helping us, keeping us safe from those men at the party?" I begin.
She nods solemnly. "Because he's a good guy who fights bad guys."
I smile at her simple but accurate assessment. "That's right. But there's more to it than that. Storm and I... we care about each other. A lot. He's become very important to me, and to you too, I think."
"He's your boyfriend," Emily states matter-of-factly, as if this is old news.
I blink, surprised by her directness. "Yes, actually. He is. How did you know that?"
She rolls her eyes in that dramatic way only children can perfect. "Because you look at each other like Eda and Ace do. And because he stayed in your room last night. And because he makes you smile more."
I feel heat rising to my cheeks, caught off guard by my daughter's perceptiveness. "You're very observant," I say, unable to deny her assessment.
"So does that mean Storm is going to stay with us?" she asks, looking between us. "Even when we go home?"
I glance at Storm, silently asking him to join the conversation. He leans forward, his expression serious but gentle.
"That's what we wanted to talk to you about, butterfly," he says. "Your mom and I want to be together, to make this, us, more permanent. But we wouldn't do that without making sure you're okay with it first."
Emily's face scrunches in thought. "Would you live at our house? Or would we live here?"
"We haven't figured out all the details yet," I admit. "But we'd be together, one way or another. Storm would be a part of our family."
"Like a dad?" she asks, the question hitting me with unexpected force.
I hesitate, unsure how to answer. Emily has never had a father figure in her life. She knows Eric exists, that he's her biological father, but only in the most abstract sense. She's never expressed interest in meeting him, never seemed to feel his absence keenly. Until now.
"Not exactly," Storm says, rescuing me from my momentary speechlessness. "I wouldn't be trying to replace anyone or take over. I'd just be... Storm. Someone who cares about you and your mom, who wants to keep you both safe and happy."
Emily considers this, her expression thoughtful beyond her years. "But you'd be around all the time? Like for breakfast and dinner and bedtime stories?"
"If that's okay with you," he confirms. "I'd like to be."
She nods slowly then breaks into a bright smile. "I think that would be good. You make really good pancakes, and Mom likes you a lot, and you promised to teach me how to ride a bike without training wheels."
Relief washes through me, followed quickly by confusion. "When did he promise to teach you to ride a bike?" I ask, not recalling this conversation.
