Chapter 19
[Ford]
Cadence had no idea what she was getting herself into with the bath time routine. Zelle was too old and too big to be in the tub with her sisters, so she’d switched to showers a while ago. Shower skills had been Felicity’s area, and she hated how Zelle didn’t always get the shampoo out of her hair.
Cadence knows a trick to teach Zelle.
With the other two, tub time could either be five minutes or forty-five.
June liked when her fingers turned pruny, but Winnie hated cold water.
Either way, June could be a bear to dress afterward as I didn’t always get her body entirely dry and wrestling her clothes against damp skin drove June crazy.
She’d flop down in all these crazy positions, and it could take another twenty-five minutes to dress her.
Cadence tackled June’s pajamas and the octopus within my youngest who suddenly only had four limbs instead of eight.
Then, a hair salon overtook my living room with brushes, combs, and colorful hairbands when I wanted these girls in bed.
However, Cadence had mastered combing June’s curly hair, and June was almost comatose by the time it was Winnie’s turn for braids.
June didn’t have enough hair for a braid, but Cadence was able to do a mini one near the side of her sweet, round face.
While I read June a book in her room, Cadence’s chattering with the other two girls, and the giggles they share, makes my chest ache.
I can’t braid hair. I won’t know all the girl things to talk about. I don’t giggle, and I wasn’t going to pull off being a girl dad.
But as Stone said, I’d learn. I’d practice. I might never be perfect, but I’d also never quit.
With June down in bed, I cross the hall to Winnie and Zelle’s room. Winnie enters with two long lines of twisted hair down her head and dangling off her shoulders.
“You look pretty,” I tell her, still feeling guilty that I lost it over her spilled milk.
When anything was broken, stained, or spilled, my ex would blow up at the kids, and I swore I wouldn’t ever sound like her, react like her.
Be my old man, essentially, which meant never demeaning my girls in any form.
My nerves got the best of me earlier, thinking I needed to be better in front of Cadence when all she seemingly wants is to spend time with us—the girls and me.
I’m still baffled by the attention, but I’m not complaining.
My girls love Cadence. Not the superstar but the woman singing silly songs, coloring pictures, and braiding their hair.
Winnie picks a book off the shelf and climbs onto her bed. I join her by sitting on the edge and reading a story about a girl who saves a village, which reminds me of Cadence. Always striving for more while surprisingly down to earth at the same time.
For twenty-four hours, she just wanted to be Caitlin, not Cadence.
Just like she wanted to be a faceless girl in a bar, singing a tune in the corner until she saved me from a potential mistake.
Even having her here tonight brings an easy quiet after an emotional day.
Within seconds, Winnie is nodding off and I whisper the remainder of the book although I’m not certain she hears me. Scooting her down the bed when I finish, Winnie immediately rolls to her side, and I drag the covers over her tiny frame.
With a kiss to her head, I exit the room and hear the end of a conversation between Cadence and Zelle.
“Sometimes it’s better to have one whole, great parent than the half-hearts of two,” Cadence says.
I stall at the end of the hallway, staring into the living room. With Cadence on the couch and Zelle between her legs, getting her braids finalized, my girl is quiet.
“Your daddy is going to be the best girl dad ever.”
“He can’t braid hair, like you.” Zelle doesn’t lie.
“But he can learn. Or you can learn. My older sister taught me how to do my hair because she learned on her own. That’s what big sisters do.
Sometimes, they need to be the teacher.” Cadence finishes wrapping a band around the end of Zelle’s braid and turns Zelle to face her, inspecting her braid work.
Then, she bops my eight-year-old on the nose. “You’re beautiful. And perfect.”
To my surprise, Zelle wraps her arms around Cadence and holds tight for a second.
Her hugs with me have slowly dissipated to the one-arm embrace which includes her arm around my lower back and the side of her body against my hip.
My girl is pulling away from me. I assume one part of the pull is her growing up, establishing independence, but I’m worried another part is her concern about us. Our new unit as a family.
My throat is thick as I watch her with Cadence.
“Zelle, baby. Time for bed.” I can’t have my girls getting attached to another woman who won’t be in their lives.
And Cadence will leave. She’s a female powerhouse with a new company to run on top of all her other accomplishments, including writing and performing music.
She isn’t going to have time for three little girls and their dad.
She’s an exemplary woman for my daughters, and I hope she continues to be a role-model for them, but she isn’t going to want the role of mother or friend or weird aunt-in-law, as she calls it.
Zelle pulls back from Cadence and Cadence gives Zelle’s braids a final tug before standing from her seat on the couch.
“Just give me a minute,” I softly say to Cadence, as Zelle passes me. Despite my fear that Cadence will disappear from my girls, I’m not ready for her to leave tonight.
Within minutes, I return to the living room, finding Cadence still standing in the middle.
“I should probably go,” Cadence states, hitching her thumb toward the door.
“Are you staying nearby?” I don’t want her to travel far.
“I have a hotel room in Scottsdale.”
The drive will be forty minutes or more, and it’s already dark outside. She’s a capable woman who can navigate the area on her own, and still, I don’t like the idea of her driving by herself.
“I just need to call a driver.”
“A driver?” I gasp. “How did you get to the game?”
“A driver.” Her brows squeeze in an adorable way, like, duh.
“And the store for cookies? And here to my place?”
“A driver.”
Cadence isn’t the best of drivers as evidenced last fall when we first met but I’d mistakenly assumed she had a rental car now. And now some random person is going to return her to her hotel room some forty minutes away?
“You could always stay here.” I have no idea what I’m saying or where that came from. This place is a furnished rental for long-term stays, and all I can offer her is my bed that has a suspicious divot in the middle compared to a lush hotel bed.
With my suggestion, Cadence’s eyes widen. “And where will you sleep?”
“On the couch.” Then I consider my shoulder. The cushions will be hell on my arm, but I’ll make do.
“I need to leave early.” Cadence speaks more to herself than to me, like she’s ticking off a mental list. Return to her hotel. Grab her things. Catch a flight.
And still, I don’t want her to leave.
“We could watch a movie.” The offer sounds weak even to me. I don’t typically watch films. I’m more a binge-watch series kind of guy, but who has eight hours for a season of Leverage tonight?
Cadence wrinkles her nose. “How would you feel about listening to music? Or watching a concert?”
“One of yours?”
“Um, no. I’m writing off this visit as a work trip. There happens to be a music festival in town to kick off the opening day of spring training and I was planning to check out the talent. Being that I’m not there, I have a friend filming it for me, and I can tap into a live feed.”
“Do you need to leave?” Maybe she should go if she has plans.
“I don’t have to do anything.” Cadence slides her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
With a smile, I respond, “Then, concert it is.”
Within minutes, Cadence has her phone wirelessly connected to my television and a live stream appears. I’d heard of the two-day festival, but I’d never been. The older I got, plus with Felicity, and then the kids, attending wasn’t something I had considered.
“I don’t really get to go to concerts as an ordinary fan anymore.
I kinda miss being in the mayhem of a crowd, all sweating and singing in unison, gathered for one reason.
The love of music and a great performance,” Cadence says, settling on the couch.
“There’s a unity that transcends you with that feeling. ”
She writes the songs people want to sing, that brings them together in the way she’s described, so I struggle to relate to what she said. Then, I recall her wanting her fifteen minutes to be average over fifteen minutes of fame.
A few minutes into the first song, Cadence lowers the volume a little so as not to disturb the girls. I don’t know what perimeters she’s using to evaluate the performance, and I worry I’ll interrupt her concentration, but I still have something to ask.
“How’d you get June into her pajamas without a fight? And Zelle to rinse her hair? Even Winnie was calm while you combed her hair which she hates.”
Cadence softly smiles. “Maybe it was easy only because I was someone new. Your kids are comfortable with you. They can let all the bad hang out. But with me, I’m shiny, and they aren’t going to be ornery in front of me.”
She watches me a second. “As for June. I made it a game, counting her body parts as we went. For Zelle, she just needed some inspiration. She’s on the cusp of caring about her hair and her body, and she needs to know how to take care of it.
I just told her to count to thirty, brushing back her hair with her hands as she went. ”
When did Cadence notice Zelle likes to count?
“As for Winnie, any girl likes to have her hair brushed. Girl tip, when someone takes their time to comb through our hair, we melt.” Cadence exaggerates by fingering through her own long locks.
With a flick of her wrist, her hair tumbles over one shoulder and she slowly looks up at me over the curved edge of her arm. She’s temptation personified and I bet men fall at their feet from that glance.
Quickly, I look away, fighting the pull to reach out and touch her hair, curl my fingers in the ends, fist the rest, and tug her to me. The memory of her mouth still lingers on mine on occasion. Admittedly, I want to taste her again.
“This guy is good,” I say, nodding toward the television, although I’m not really listening to the singer who struts from side to side of the stage.
“Oh yeah? Who is your favorite artist?”
The next hour flows fast as we talk music and musicians, then binge-able series before drifting into random topics, like how I like pineapple and she’s eaten a pinecone salad.
Eventually, I stifle a yawn.
“I should let you get some sleep, and I should probably check in with my new manager.” Cadence almost looks giddy when she speaks about a woman named Lana Barclay.
“Let me just change the sheets.” I stand, preparing to lead Cadence to my room but Cadence’s hand on my forearm halts me.
“Don’t fuss, Ford. I’ll be fine.” She steps around me and stops at the entrance to the hallway. Turning toward me, she pauses. “Since we’re doing that weird siblings-not-siblings thing, does this mean we can sneak into each other’s rooms?”
Her blue eyes sparkle with mirth, and she rolls her lips inward, as if fighting a smile.
“Good night, Caitlin.” I chuckle.
“Night, cowboy.”