Turning back to the task at hand, I open the cabinet and pull out the bread before squatting down in front of Emmy.  She takes a step back, but just one. I figure that’s probably something like progress.

“Do you wanna help?  Be my mini sous chef?”

She looks shyly from me to her mother and back again.  She doesn’t answer; she just takes off running toward Eden. She tugs on Eden’s hand until she bends so that Emmy can whisper in her ear, and then she races back to me.

“When Emmy and I cook together, we always listen to music,” Eden explains as she flips on the television and finds a music station.

“Then let’s get to it,” I say to Emmy, slapping my hands together and then holding them open. “Can I put you up here so you can help me better?” I ask.

At first Emmy just looks at me, her little lips pursed around her thumb. Music begins playing softly in the background as she watches me.  I’m just about to make an excuse to let her off the hook when she slips her thumb out of her mouth and spreads her arms.

Something burns in my chest when I reach for her, cupping her gently beneath her arms and hefting her up onto the countertop.  She’s light as a feather. So small and delicate.  Fragile.  How could anyone even think of hurting her?

I push the thoughts away. They don’t belong here with us. Not today.

Emmy doesn’t smile until she looks back at her mom. And when she does, her grin is enough to melt the coldest of hearts.  I guess as long as she can see her, she feels safe.

I glance back at Eden again. She’s dancing for her daughter, head bouncing, eyes closed.  When she opens them and finds me watching her, she blushes ten shades of red.  After a few seconds she starts laughing, though, and then I hear an answering giggle closer to me.

Emmy’s eyes are lit up as she watches her mother. It hurts to see it, but more in a good way this time. It makes me incredibly sad, but not the hopeless kind of sad I’ve felt for so long. More like the feeling that I wish my own daughter could be here, enjoying a breakfast like this.  But this little girl needs it as much as mine did.  And at least I can be here for her.

TWENTY-ONE

Eden

I FEEL LIKE acting silly.  I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long time.  Maybe ever.  My parents were never the fun kind. Their work was always more important than me.  Giving me attention was never a priority.

Then, when they sent me to Lucy’s, I got all kinds of attention, only it was attention that no girl ever dreams of having.  I promised when I had Emmy that she’d never know the kind of childhood that I had.  She’d have all my love and attention, and she’d never doubt how precious she is to me.  I promised myself that we’d laugh and act silly and enjoy every day. I swore to myself that she’d have a million good memories of her childhood to compete with her horrible ones.  And today will be one of those good memories for her.  Since Ryan, she hasn’t let a man touch her, even in the most casual way, not even the doctors.

Until now.

Until Cole.

She seems to sense something in him.  Brokenness?  Gentleness?  Sadness?  Safety?  I don’t know, but it puts her at ease with him in a way she hasn’t shown anyone in two years.

But today, Emmy’s happy.  Her smile is music to my soul like the song playing behind me is music to my ears. And Cole…watching him interact with her, seeing the expression on his face when he looks at her…this day couldn’t be more perfect.  And it’s only just begun.

It started with talk of the worst time of my life.  Maybe it will end with laughter from the best.

“Come on, Emmy.  Dance like you do in your car seat,” I call across the room to my daughter. I raise my arms and pump them to the beat like I’ve seen her do so often.

Emmy shakes her head, her eyes flickering quickly to me then to Cole and back to me again.

Cole notices.  “You mean like this?” he asks, shaking his hips and shoulders.  Even though he’s goofing off for Emmy’s sake, I can see that he has rhythm, and for some reason that is a huge turn-on for me.  It makes me think of his rhythm in other activities, thoughts of which have no business being in my head when my child is near.  But still, all in all, I just feel warm and happy.  And…hopeful.

Grinning over at Cole, Emmy raises her hands, just a little, and thumps them to the beat.  “Go, Emmy! Go, Emmy!” Cole cheers when she starts to wiggle her shoulders.  Her face is lit up like the fourth of July and I’ve never seen a more wonderful sight.  Even as gorgeous as the man at her side is, seeing her make this small bit of progress is breathtakingly beautiful.

From the living room, I direct Cole in supply procurement as he gathers a bowl and fork, takes eggs, butter and milk from the fridge, grabs cinnamon from the cabinet and gets a skillet from under the stove.

He moves like he’s comfortable in a kitchen. I guess he has to be. I mean, he’s a bachelor. It’s that or starve.

“Think I can crack this egg with one hand?” he asks Emmy.  She watches with wide eyes as he does exactly that.  I can tell she’s impressed, but not nearly as much as when he dances his way to the trashcan to throw the empty shell away.  She watches his every move, a smile playing with the corners of her lips the whole time.  It occurs to me that she probably finds him just as incredible as I do.

As she whisks the milk and egg mixture, Cole turns to me.  When his eyes fix on mine again, they make me feel breathless.  He’s impossibly handsome anyway, but when he’s like this–so relaxed and playful, taking such care with my daughter–I think to myself that there can’t be a more attractive man on the planet. There just can’t.

“Come on, mom,” Cole says, holding out his hand to me.  “Help us make dancin’ French toast.”

So I do.  And it’s the best French toast I’ve ever had.

⌘⌘⌘⌘

We decide to make the snowman in Cole’s small yard. It didn’t take much to convince Emmy of the benefits of it, especially once Cole told her that he had carrots at his house and that the snowman would be devastated if he had no nose. She practically dragged me all the way to his place after that.  The snowman must not be noselessly devastated!

Now, we’re sitting in his kitchen, looking out at the snowman in his back yard while he makes us hot chocolate to cap off the grilled cheese and soup we just ate.  Emmy is watching cartoons on his enormous TV, playing with her toes through her socks, eyes glued to the screen.

“So, why did you really want the snowman in your yard?” I ask.  That question has been bugging me all day. Cole seemed very determined to bring us here, to have the snowman here.

His eyes flicker to Emmy and then back to me.  As always, even after such a brief reprieve from them, I’m struck by the bright blue intensity of his gaze.  I think I can literally feel it when he looks at me. No kidding.

“Is it so terrible that I wanted you here? That I wanted to see you playing in my yard, sitting at my table, watching your daughter from my kitchen?”

His words warm me better than the crackling fire that’s blazing in his huge fireplace.  “I guess that’s not too terrible,” I deflect, lowering my eyes so he won’t see how much pleasure his words bring me.

Cole reaches out and hooks a finger under my chin, lifting until my eyes are back on his, unable to escape.  “I’d keep you here if I could. I’d memorize you in every room of this house.  It would never be empty again. It would smell like you, feel like you. It would hold you.”

I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face.  “Well, in that case, we’d better get started.  Do I get a tour of all these rooms I’m staying in?”