Page 56 of Off the Beaten Path

“Daddy said we can have chocolate chips in our pancakes,” she says, and a smile pulls at my mouth.

Setting her down, I ruffle her hair. “Can’t wait.”

June’s little hand wraps around mine, tugging me toward the kitchen, and my heart hammers as she pulls me closer to Holden. I don’t know how he’s going to react after last night, if he’s going to regret it again, or if he’s going to give me one of those smiles that I feel in the tips of my toes and the pit of my stomach.

My eyes snag on Holden’s immediately, like there’s a tether between us, drawing us together. The anxiety roiling inside me disappears the moment I see that half smile, the one that makes his beard twitch. It’s almost invisible, but I know how to look for it now. I wonder how many times I missed it before, when I thought he was scowling or angry at my antics. I wonder if it was there, if he found me as interesting as I’ve always found him.

“Morning, Red,” he says, and it’s like he whispered it straight into my ear. I can feel iteverywhere. A hot blush races across my skin, stealing up into my cheeks, and I can see the moment he notices by the way his eyes heat and how his smile grows into something bigger and fuller than I’ve seen before.

“Ready for pancakes?” he asks.

June tugs on my hand, snapping me out of the trance I’ve fallen into in Holden’s warm hazel eyes. “With chocolate chips, just like you promised.”

Holden looks down at his daughter, his expression going soft and tender. “With chocolate chips.”

I’ve never noticed how expressive his face is if you know how to look for it. He’s always seemed distant and aloof to me, and I marvel at the way I’m able to read him now after such a short amount of time.

“I’m making something for you,” June says, pulling my attention back to her.

Something warm seeps through me at the statement. “For me?”

June nods eagerly and gives my hand another tug toward the counter. She climbs up into one of the barstools, and I sit in the one beside her, eyes fastening on the clear box of beads on the countertop.

“It’s a bracelet,” she says, lifting up a piece of clear, stretchy string, threaded with colorful beads. Blue eyes fix on mine, bright as the early morning sunshine streaming through the windows. “Can you tell me how to spell your name?”

When I glance at Holden, he’s watching us, that same soft expression playing on his features. Turning back to June, a smile on my lips, I say, “Of course.Wis the first letter.”

Her little fingers begin digging through the section of letter beads, and I let my eyes trail to Holden, where he’s pouring pancake batter into a skillet on the stove. It’s been months since I’ve seen him without a flannel, and I’ve never really noticed the thick cords of muscle in his arms, the way they flex and move when he’s doing something as simple as flipping a pancake. Every single one of his movements is sure and precise. I can’t help but admire that about him. Everything I do is rushed and disorganized, but he moves in a way that feels efficient and deliberate. I wonder what it would feel like to have all that intensity focused on me for longer than a handful of moments.

Just the thought sends a shiver up my spine, warmth pooling in the space behind my belly button.

“What comes next?” June asks, finished with threading theWonto the string.

I turn my attention to her. “R.”

Holden finishes making a stack of pancakes and scrambles eggs while I spell out my name for June and watch as she puts the final beads on my bracelet. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth as she focuses on tying it off, just like I’ve noticed Holden does when he’s focusing at the cabin. They’re so different, their looks and mannerisms, but I like that I can see this similarity in them, and I want to discover more.

“Table, June Bug,” Holden says, nodding in the direction of the scarred oak table in the dining nook.

I hold my wrist out, my heart squeezing as she slips the bracelet onto it.

“Does it fit?” she asks, looking up at me with wide, concerned eyes.

Truthfully, it’s a little big, and I’ll have to remove some of the beads and make it tighter when I get home so it doesn’t fall off, but I give her a broad grin. “It’s perfect, June Bug.”

I’d do almost anything to receive the smile she gives me in return, the kind you feel like a kick in the stomach, so good it hurts.

My nerves come back as we sit around the table, and I remember that Holden invited me into a family tradition. I don’t know this for certain, but I have a pretty good idea that he’s never done this before.

“Whipped cream or syrup, June Bug?” Holden asks.

“Both.”

Holden narrows his eyes in her direction, holding her gaze until she sighs, as if this is a regular argument between the two of them. I have to press my lips together to keep from smiling when she finally relents and chooses syrup.

Turning to me, Holden asks, “Whipped cream or syrup?”

I let loose the grin. “Both.”

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