Page 35 of Small Town, Big Storm
No.
Not even that.
He’s had an hour of Holly being excited and easy-going.That’s not parenting.Shit gets real at bedtime and while trying to figure out ten-frames and having to listen to her wax poetic about Minecraft for twenty minutes straight.
Still, I can’t help but smile.
Especially when she finishes, “—that squeaks.”
Storm’s gaze finds mine for a heartbeat, the gray depths dancing.“You’re not wrong.”He gathers the now-formed dough into a ball, shows her how to knead it with precise, practiced strokes.
“You’ve done this before,” I say before I can stop myself.
His eyes come to mine for another beat.“Yeah.”A shrug of one broad shoulder.“A few times.”
Wanna bet that afew timesis actually many more than that?
Because the man smoothly moves through the motions even as Holly peppers him with questions, her actions messy and jerky—like any six-year-old’s would be—until he declares the dough ready to “rest.”
(Whatever the heck that means since the dough doesn’t look the least bit different to me.)
And, yup, Holly and I definitely would have ended up down at Molly’s if we’d been left to our own devices.
Luckily, we’re not.
“Sauce time,” he says, setting the ball aside to rest.“What ingredients did you pick up for it?”
Holly and I look at each other.“Uhhh.”
Sheepishly, I pick up the jar of premade sauce that’s been sitting on the counter.
His expression is so scandalized, I nearly laugh.
Until he brushes his hands together and hitches his chin toward the door.“Okay then.Let’s go.”
“G-go?”I stammer, my pulse suddenly speeding through my veins.“Go wh-where?”
He grins and it’s so beautiful I don’t process the words at first.
Because they’re both so normal.
And also…so freaking strange.
“The grocery store.”
Eleven
Storm
“What about this one?”
I gently squeeze the tomato that Holly holds up and smile at her.“That one’s great,” I tell her, putting it in the bag.
She beams back at me and I feel it in my chest.
Deepin my chest.
She’s smart and precocious and lights up the space around her.
