Chapter 1 #2
“That’s a giraffe,” Ellie says as I lift her onto my lap.
“That’s what we’re missing here, giraffes.” I reach around her for it and break it in half. “Shall we give it the taste test and prove Uncle Wesley’s first-grader theory right?”
She nods eagerly and takes her half, shoving it in her mouth. “So good.”
“Agreed.”
She chews for moment and I see those blue eyes working as she looks out the window. “Are you going to make these for me when we move to the new house?”
Three sets of eyes glance in our direction—or rather, mine—but I ignore them and focus on my girl, leaning in close. “Better than these amateurs.”
She giggles. “When you get back, can you take me to see it again?”
I avoid a glare from my brother and tuck a loose curl behind her ear. Ellie knows the house isn’t ready—or even livable—but it’s been a while since I last took her over there.
And I haven’t made a ton of progress. Between wrapping up the summer season, planning for fall harvest, working on the custody transition, and just . . . getting used to being a father, the finishing touches have taken a backseat.
I’d initially promised we’d be moved in by fall.
It’s now mid-October and not one piece of furniture is unwrapped.
No boxes unpacked. Hell, I think there’s even a room or two upstairs that still needs flooring.
The only room fully finished is mine, since I’ve spent the night a few times, working on the house when Ellie’s with her grandparents.
If Ellie saw it now, she’d lose any faith she has in me.
“Of course we can.”
Her eyes light up. “I can’t wait.” She presses herself into me and I welcome the embrace. It’s taken a few weeks, but I’ve finally stopped tensing when she hugs me.
I love that she’s a hugger.
I love feeling her trust in me grow each day.
But there’s still doubt in those eyes. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe deep inside I don’t trust myself. So it’s not fair to expect her to.
Rose lifts her apron over her head with a sigh and tosses it at her brother, breaking my train of thought. “You’re right, Wes, I’m just not cut out to make pancakes the Evans way. You might as well finish the rest.”
Wes narrows his gaze. “Don’t Huck Finn me. We split the mix and you’re finishing your half.”
“I think the phrase you’re looking for is Tom Sawyered.” Rose reaches for Ellie’s hand. “And no, Ellie and I are going apple-picking in Luke’s orchard.”
“Any left this late in the season?” Wilder asks.
Rose gives Wilder a pointed look and mumbles, “Not much else I know to do with a seven-year-old.”
The annoying power couple turn their gaze on me.
I sigh and subtly nod as I turn away.
I know, I know.
She needs a nanny—someone full-time. Someone good with children.
Natural, happy, reliable. Someone like Ginger, maybe.
Except, Ginger’s past the age of retirement so maybe someone younger.
But not as young as Rose, who might be chasing other dreams and then abandon my little girl the minute she gets attached.
And probably not someone in between either.
Someone with her own family. Or worse—someone without and looking to start one here.
That settles it.
No nanny.
If Ellie and I have anything in common, it’s that we don’t need someone coming and going.
We’ll be fine.
I growl low and move to the counter for a cup of coffee, then step out to the back porch like I’m checking the weather.
A minute later, the screen door swings open and my brother steps out.
“Everything’s fine,” I say, taking a sip and keeping my eyes on the fields.
“I didn’t say anything,” Wilder insists, taking a seat on the bench behind me.
“Good.”
A beat later, he steps beside me, gripping the fence and facing out. “House is done, isn’t it?”
I swallow the caffeinated liquid. “Still smells like sawdust. There’s a draft coming from somewhere. Haven’t found it yet. Need to get the heater unit installed. Furniture’s still wrapped in plastic.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything as I mutter out the laundry list.
“She’s not ready,” I rasp, finally.
“Ellie’s not ready, or you’re not ready?”
“I meant the house.”
“Ah, that’s right. The house is a she. Forgot about that.”
I think of Millie. The house I started building for us—for her.
Almost every detail is her, how she wanted it.
A bedroom facing the river. A spiral staircase.
Crown molding throughout the entire space.
And even though there are details that won’t be hers, she’d have loved it.
Or what it will be when I’m done with it.
As picky as she tended to be, I can’t imagine her not loving it.
Every brick, board, and nail was set with her in mind, her eyes lighting up the way they did with just the idea of it.
It’s been a “she” since I started building. Now every time I step into that house, it’s Ellie I consider. What she’ll see through her eyes. What she’ll feel, smell . . . love.
Part of me feels like it’s always been meant for her. Every time I ride up to it, I have visions of her playing in the yard, or up in her window.
“You want us out of here?” I pivot.
“That’s not what I’m saying. Just wondering what’s holding you back. Busy season’s over and you’ve got more than enough help.”
“Just needs some finishing touches. I’ll take care of it when we get back.”
I have to.
“Good.” He glances back at the house. “Because that girl knows this isn’t her permanent home. It’s about time you give her one.”
His words hit my chest and I scoff to play it off. “Can I take Rose with me?”
Wilder’s shoulders drop. “You can do everything she does.”
“Even bathtime? And there’s other things. I’ve heard Rose mutter something about Ellie feeling warmer than usual. How would I know the difference? What if there’s something she’s afraid to ask for, how will I know?”
Wilder shakes his head. “I don’t know. But it’s not like Rose has any experience. And between you and me, she loves Ellie . . . but she wasn’t exactly planning on stepping into the role of mom whilst you find someone to hire.”
I place my hat back over my head. “I’m not hiring anyone.”
“Dallas, you can’t—”
“I’ve got this. We’re in a good place now—or gettin’ there at least.”
His jaw locks, like he can’t hold back. “That why she calls you by your first name? You talk to her about that yet?”
“I’m not pressuring her to do anything,” I snap quietly.
Wilder holds up his hands in defense. “I said talk to her, not tell her. She probably just needs to know it’s OK to.”
“Come on, let’s hit the road. Sooner we go, sooner we get back.” I push off the fence. “You start the car, I’ll go say goodbye.”