Page 32 of The Single Dad Project

“I heard that, Leontyne Dennison Strafford.” Moe stalked into the kitchen, scowling. “You might be another man’s wife, but you will always be my daughter. And that means you’ll never be too old for me to take my spoon to that ass.”

Flo glanced toward the sink and the Spoon of Mass Destruction—it honest to God had that engraved in the handle since Wolf and Cole had it done for a Mother’s Day long ago—hanging on the hook. She’d threatened to smack them with it many times over the years. Moe had yet to follow through, but not one of her children was foolish enough to try her.

“You know, you’re getting a tad more violent in your old age, woman,” Flo drawled, moving the pot of mashed potatoes to the counter next to the stove. “First it was the knuckles, now it’s the ass. I’m about to start worrying about my daddy.”

Moe snorted. “Ask your father if he’d want to be in anyone else’s hands but mine. Matter of fact, you should’ve asked him just this morning when—”

“Ew!” Leo clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop traumatizing me! I got here by stork, dammit, and I mean that.” With ears still covered, she power walked for the kitchen door. “Hey, Bono! Mommy’s coming!” she yelled, even though her son hadn’t made a peep.

Flo chuckled at her sister’s antics, while a smirk rode Moe’s mouth. She grabbed a pair of oven mitts before turning and waving them in Sydney, Nessa and Jenna’s direction.

“You three go and give me a minute with Flo,” she ordered.

Nessa sighed. “Can I take the wine?” she asked, already reaching for the bottle and her glass.

“Yes, baby,” Moe said, lips twitching. “But I don’t want you face-planting in my squash casserole tonight.”

“Of course not.” Nessa grinned. “You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but your son is super fast. He’d catch me before I hit the plate.”

“Get out of here.” Moe snatched up a dish towel and mock snapped it after Nessa, who laughed, darting across the kitchen—but still holding on to the wine.

As soon as Sydney and Jenna followed her, and only Flo remained with Moe, her mother turned to her, eyebrow risen.

“If my chicken is dry, I’m going to blame you since you appear to be the only one not on their way to tipsy,” Moe said. Setting the towel on the island, she held her arms out toward Flo, who didn’t hesitate to walk into her mother’s embrace.

The familiar baby powder-and-lavender scent surrounded her, and for the first time since stepping onto the Hudson property, the tension in her muscles slowly released and she exhaled a full deep breath. Here, in Moe’s arms, was her safety. Her place of refuge. The only other place she’d found this kind of peace was in her father’s embrace. From the time she’d been a confused, hurting little girl who clung to her anchors in a chaotic storm after losing not just her mother but also the only father she’d known.

“Sonny and Cher might be my youngest, but you’re my baby girl. You’re the one I hold tightest to because in some ways you’ve always had one foot out the door.” Flo parted her lips to object, but Moe shook her head, cupping Flo’s cheeks. “No, I don’t mean you’re running away from us, Flo. But out of all my kids, you’re the seeker. The one who’s always searching. Whether it’s a new place to visit and discover or take pictures of, or a truth to uncover. There’s something inside of you that remains unsatisfied...seeking. And it’s that something that makes me a little nervous and worried for you.”

“Moe...” Flo lifted her hands, circling her mother’s wrists as unease sliced through her. “What’s wrong? Why are you saying this? There’s no reason to be worried about me. I’m—”

“Fine,” Moe finished. “That might work with other people, but not me. I haven’t pushed it, waiting on you to come to me when you’re ready, but something happened while you were in Thailand. Don’t think just because you glossed over talking about it when you returned home that I didn’t notice. And when you’re finally prepared to confide in me, I’m here.”

Moe dropped her hands, brushing them over Flo’s shoulders and down her arms, then clasping her hands.

“Moe...” Her words stuttered and died on her tongue. Because she couldn’t lie to her mother. So she deflected, avoided the subject. “What’s going on? That can’t be the only reason you wanted to talk to me.”

Quietly studying her for several long moments, Moe released Flo and turned, retrieving her mitts and removing the baked chicken from the oven. Only once she set the dish on top of the stove and removed the gloves did she face her again.

“Cole told me he gave you the mail from Noah.”

She hadn’t said “her father,” and for that, Flo appreciated her.

“He did,” Flo said, spinning around to open the cabinet and stretch an arm, rise on her toes and grab a large bowl to transfer the potatoes from the pot.

“Flo,” Moe murmured. “Please look at me, honey.”

Setting the bowl down, she flattened her palms, staring at the white-and-gold dotted pattern on the counter. But even at her big age of twenty-four, she couldn’t disobey her mother. Inhaling a deep breath, she turned, propping a hip against the counter, and faced Moe.

“Your father has—” Moe sighed, briefly closing her eyes “—complicated feelings about his brother reaching out to you. But he would never want to pressure you into replying to Noah or feeling obligated not to reach out because of loyalty to him. I haven’t said anything before, but if this hurts you...” She trailed off. “I care aboutyouand your feelings more than anything else. If you don’t want to receive those cards any longer, I will personally intercept them and return each one to sender. Or hold on to them until you’re ready to read the letters. Whateveryouwant.”

A flash of pain skittered across Moe’s face, and she glanced over her shoulder. But not as if she was looking for someone. No. More as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at Flo. But when her gaze did meet Flo’s again, the guilt swimming there only solidified that thought.

“I’m sorry I’m just saying this to you now. We should’ve had this conversation,” she murmured.

“Moe, it’s okay.I’mokay.” Flo clasped her mother’s hands, giving them a gentle shake.

Her throat tightened for a moment, emotion shoving into it. How many times had she wished Moe or Wolf or Cole had interceded on her behalf when those cards showed up, reminding her of who she wasn’t?

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