48. Noelle
Chapter forty-eight
Noelle
I stared at the contents of Cal’s humongous fridge and sighed. After the matchbox-sized refrigerator in my New York apartment, this was overkill. Think of how many tacos could fit in there. And yes, tacos were an appropriate unit of measurement in any scenario.
The oven timer beeped, and I grabbed the grey hot mitts to remove the shepherd’s pie bubbling in all its gravy goodness. One pan meals for the win.
“Miss Noelle, Daddy’s talking on TV!” Khia hollered from the living room.
Leaving the shepherd’s pie to cool, I hurried to join her.
The pregame interview played on the screen, and my heart skipped.
Cal had the audacity to wear his ball cap backwards and grin in that adorable way of his—dimples on full display.
The camera definitely captured his good side. Except the man didn’t have a bad one.
I almost missed the interviewer’s question.
“The bracelets are new. Any special significance?”
Cal touched them with a soft smile. “They’re from my two best girls.”
“That’s me!” Khia jumped up and down on the couch.
“I think we can safely assume one of them is your daughter, but who is this other mystery woman?” the interviewer pressed. “She’s caught everyone’s attention.”
Cal shifted so he was gazing right into the living room. Like he could see my messy bun and the jersey I was wearing (I’d caved and bought a new one). “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” And he winked.
Rest in peace, dignity. I was reduced to a puddle on the living room floor.
Khia giggled. “Daddy winked at me!”
Knees, you have one job. Stand strong. Don’t fail me now. “He sure did, Sweet Pea.”
Her button nose wrinkled. “What’s a sweet pea?”
“It’s a type of flower.”
“Can I see?”
I fished my phone out of my jeans pocket and googled a picture of the plant.
Khia inspected my screen when I showed her, then nodded approvingly. “I like it. You can call me Sweet Pea. Daddy calls me Lovebug, and Uncle Grey calls me Princess.”
“You are very loved.”
“Yup.” She grinned. “Can we have hot chocolate?”
“Let’s start with dinner.”
“Psychedelic Glossolalia!” Khia shouted, bouncing up and down on her pink canopy bed. She hadn’t sat still since the Chargers had won tonight’s game.
I froze, alarmed and horrified. What was this bizarre word and how did she know it? What’s more, was it a child-appropriate word, or had she somehow managed to pick up gutter words in my charge? “Psycha-what?” I asked hoarsely.
“It’s a hypofosis about mushrooms,” she explained, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “From Jason Lark!”
Hypothesis. About mushrooms. Of course it was. “Right.” I chuckled. Her favourite science audio dramas were fascinating, I had to admit. “You go to sleep and dream of mushrooms, and I’ll stay till your daddy comes home.”
She settled on the bed, and I scooped her curls into the silk bonnet.
“Can you tell me a bedtime story?” she asked once I was finished.
I motioned to the shelf of books. “What’s your favourite?”
Khia tugged the blanket up to her chin. “Can you make one up?”
No, I could not. My brain fog was winning tonight, and I wasn’t a human genie with a crank-a-story button. I stifled a yawn. “Maybe next time. You pick a story tonight.”
“Cinderella!”
Naturally. I was several years out of practice with princess stories, but I could work with this one.
“You ready?” I asked, settling beside her on the bed.
Khia snuggled close, her silky hair bonnet tucking under my chin. “My feet are under the covers so monsters can’t get me.”
I kissed the top of her head.
Oh, if it were only that simple.