Page 17 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
“Eloise and Heather,” I say, and my throat pulls tight. “They want to come. I keep… not letting them.”
“I understand protecting them,” he says. “There’s only so much heartbreak you can hand out in a day. But you might consider it. One at a time, short visits first. Give Annabel rails to grab when the water gets rough.”
I nod because it’s either that or crumble. “Okay.”
He hesitates. “And Jasmine—don’t measure love by recognition.” He pushes his glasses up, voice quiet. “Sometimes love is doing the thing that looks like nothing. Showing up. Letting her be held by the life you built around her.”
That does it. I blink hard and swallow harder. “Right,” I say. “Thanks.”
When I step back into the room, Mom’s looking at her knitting like it’s a map she doesn’t remember how to read. I sit beside her and pull a chair close enough that our shoulders touch.
“Pretty,” I say, because it is. “You always liked yellow.”
She glances at the yarn and smiles faintly. “My mother liked yellow,” she says, and for a second there’s a glint of that old Annabel—the one who’d stand over a pie and declare with religious fervor that you never skimp on butter.
I talk about safe things. “Scotty’s was busy. Eloise and Heather send hello. They’re being bossy, which you taught them.”
At Eloise and Heather, the corner of her mouth lifts. “Nosy,” she says, and it lands like a miracle.
“Extremely,” I say, laughing a little. We sit in that small warmth until it fades. When it does, I press a kiss to her temple that she doesn’t flinch from and stand.
“I’ll visit again soon,” I tell her. “And next time… maybe I’ll bring the nosy ones.”
She’s already looking past me, but I say it anyway, because promises count even when the person can’t hold them.
On my way out, Maria lifts a hand. “Take care, honey.”
“You too,” I say, and the words feel thin against the size of the afternoon.
The air outside is too bright. I blink and let the sun burn the antiseptic out of my nose. My phone buzzes. Riley checking in.
How is she?
Jasmine:Hard day. Tiny yellow miracle. Bringing E & H next time.
Riley: Good. I’ll drive. Also—don’t freak out if you see sirens later. School had an “incident.” Everyone’s okay. Will call.
My heart lurches into my throat.Everyone’s okayis a phrase that covers too much territory.
Who?I text.
Dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Tell you in person. Promise it’s trending okay.
I stare at the screen until my reflection judges me for inventing disasters. Then I force myself into the car, start the engine, and point toward work.
***
Back at the diner, the afternoon rush is cresting. I tie my apron in a bow and step into the dance like I never left. Sarah nets me with a look that saysyou good?I give her the half-smile that saysishand pour myself into the flow.
“Jaz!” Hank calls from his corner, brandishing the paper. “Says here a Mr. Harold Beckett closed on Madison. Manners of a turnip, says Eloise.”
“I am sure the turnips are offended,” I say, sliding a plate onto the pass.
Heather leans toward me as I drop off coffee. “How was she?”
“Soft day,” I say. “But yellow yarn got a smile. And next time, I’m bringing you.”
