13. Chapter Thirteen #2
“That’d work for a board,” I said. “Could do a few of them—make it look intentional instead of just a board rack.”
She shot me a look I couldn’t quite read. “You’d let me hang stuff on the walls?”
“Your room, your rules. Within reason.” I grabbed the shelf box. “No burning sage or sacrificing small animals.”
A tiny snort escaped her. Sweet! Progress.
We loaded the cart with three shelves, then followed the signs toward bedding. A display of southwestern decor caught my eye. Specifically, a ceramic frog wearing a cowboy hat.
“Now that’s style.” I pointed at the blue frog. “Way better than some wimpy crown-wearing toad.”
“You take that back.” But her lips twitched. “Prince Francisco would never wear a cowboy hat. He has standards.”
“Prince Francisco?”
“My board. The frog prince is named Prince Francisco.” She crossed her arms. “It’s rude to judge.”
“We don’t judge here. Just thinking your prince might need a yeehaw cousin to keep him company in your new room.”
She rolled her eyes, but as we passed the display, I caught her looking back at the cowboy frog. Oh yeah, that was coming home with us.
The bedding section exploded with color and pattern. Hannah’s steps slowed as we approached, her guard creeping back up. But then something caught her eye and she moved forward like she was drawn by a magnet.
The bedding caught the fluorescent store lights, circles scattered across pink fabric like lily pads floating on a pond. Shamrock green accents popped against the pink. Exactly her colors, but without any hint of kid. Hannah reached out, then pulled back.
“Too pink?” My heart hammered, but I played it cool.
“Not… exactly.” She chewed her bottom lip. “The circles look like lily pads.”
“Sounds perfect for a frog lover like you.”
Her eyes lit up for a split second before she schooled her expression. “Maybe.”
“Let’s grab it.” I reached for the display package. “We can always bring it back if—”
“Wait.” She pointed to an alcove tucked between bedding displays. “What’s that?”
I followed her gaze to a wall of neon signs. And there, like the cosmic shopping gods smiled down on me and my first Dad Shopping With Daughter Trip, hung a neon green and pink outline of a crown-wearing frog.
“No way.” The words burst from her in a rush of excitement she couldn’t quite contain. Then, softer, “But it’s probably expensive.”
I snagged the price tag. Did I ever imagine dropping this much cash on a neon frog? Never. But being the perfect dad for my new daughter? Priceless.
“Consider it a welcome home gift.” I lifted the sign off its hook. “Every princess needs a little neon. It’s even on your Aunt Shy’s list.” I held out my phone. “See, right here. Says ‘lighting’.”
“Prince,” she corrected, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Frog prince.”
“Right, my bad. Prince lighting it is.”
We loaded the cart with the bedding set, some green and pink pillows that matched well enough to make Shy proud, and a soft gray area rug to save her feet from a cold floor.
Hannah’s footsteps had a bounce now, her phone forgotten in her pocket as she pointed out little extras—a jewelry holder shaped like a lily pad, pink and green string lights, a trio of floating shelves that would showcase her board like art.
By the time we hit checkout, the cart overflowed and my wallet cried, but watching Hannah arrange and rearrange the items on the conveyor belt, shifting everything until the colors lined up just right? Worth every penny.
“Think this’ll make up for the mashed potato wall?” I asked as we pushed through the exit. “At least, until we can get the walls redone?”
She nodded, then hit me with a full smile. A hint of Shy, but uniquely Hannah. The first real one I’d seen. “Way better.”
Pride expanded in my chest. I could do this dad thing. One shopping trip, one smile, one perfectly coordinated bedroom at a time.
“Although…” She glanced back at the store as we crossed the parking lot. “We forgot something.”
My heart dropped. “What’d we miss?”
“The yeehaw frog. Prince Francisco needs a cousin.”
I laughed and spun the cart around. “Can’t let old man Francisco be lonely, can we?”
Her answering grin lit up brighter than the neon frog sign. “Nope.”
The yeehaw frog joined his royal cousin in a bag of his own. Hannah insisted on carrying him, cradling the shiny blue ceramic cowboy like he was a treasure instead of simple pottery. That stubborn, protective streak—I knew it well.
By the time we finished setting up her room, ordering pizza, and watching The Lion King (which she grudgingly admitted didn’t completely suck), Hannah crashed hard. Good thing too, since morning practice meant an early start for me and I was already exhausted.
The sitter arrived the next morning at dawn—a middle-aged woman with impeccable reviews from the fancy app Shy recommended. Hannah barely cracked an eye open when I checked on her before leaving. The sitter settled onto the couch with a book, looking perfectly capable of handling a teenager.
The urge to call Shy gnawed at me the whole drive in.
But no. Time to trust the process, or whatever bullshit Coach Trasier always preached.
Though leaving Hannah with a stranger came a little too close to my own childhood—shipped off to hockey camps, passed between neighbors whenever Mom and Dad had “more important” things to do.
I promised myself this was different. We were working through a transition. In time, we’d have a system. A system that let Hannah know how important she was to me, but still let me play hockey.