10. Alistair
ALISTAIR
“Did you make a bead bracelet for Aisling?” I asked Kenna, firmly shutting down any further discussion of an outing into town without me.
She shook her head. “No.”
“We made Princess a little beaded charm for her collar,” Madison, “but there wasn’t enough supplies in the kit to do more than that, so you’ll have to stock her up with more beads and string and wire.”
“Yay!” Kenna cheered. “More beads!”
“More?” I said playfully.
“The kit didn’t come with very much,” Madison said. “Very beginner friendly, but Kenna is obviously approaching expert levels.”
“Obviously,” I murmured absently, frowning as I stared down at the bracelet on his wrist. I could see the cheap plastic beads, but there were pieces that looked nicer. “This is all out of her kit?”
“No, we needed a couple extra bits and parts to make things work,” Madison said. “The kit didn’t provide any kind of closures, so I took apart some of my own stuff to supplement what we needed.”
I blanched a little at that. “You what?” I couldn’t imagine someone taking apart their own jewelry to appease a four-year-old.
“Don’t worry. It was nothing expensive or sentimental. Just some pieces I’d made myself. It’s actually a hobby of mine—jewelry making. Keeps my hands busy on rainy days. So trust me. I know firsthand that there’s never enough lobster clasps to go around.”
Kenna grabbed my wrist, playing with the clasp. “Madison said this is a lobster!”
“Lobster clasp,” Madison said, grinning.
Kenna made pinchy fingers, holding them up to me. “See, Daddy?”
“You’re right. It does look like a lobster claw.” I turned to Madison. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She lifted her shoulder, sorting through the mess on the island. “I didn’t mind. But let me know if you want a list of what to order for her.”
“I will,” I said, setting Kenna down on the stool. “And I’ll replace the jewelry you took apart.”
“That’s really not necessary—it’s fine,” she said. “I’d have taken it apart myself eventually and built something else. It’s fun to change things up and I love that I have that option.”
Madison kept her head down and I couldn’t tell if I’d made her uncomfortable or if she was upset that I’d said no about the outing. I wanted to make things right for the both of them.
“I know I said no about the cat café, but there’s a winter festival in town in a couple weeks,” I said, the firmness in my tone making it clear that I’d made up my mind.
“I’ve heard it attracts local artisans from around the region.
I’m sure some of them are bound to have jewelry. I’ll buy you some new pieces.”
“No, it’s okay—”
“I insist.”
I watched her emotions flit across her face. Annoyance that I was being so imperious. But a part of her looked a bit pleased and I wanted to see more of that.
I took the paper crown off my head and set it on hers. “You’ll need something to match your crown.”
Princess turned circles between us, barking incessantly.
I frowned down at the dog. “Maybe we’ll even find a muzzle.”
Madison started to frown at that, but when Kenna chimed in with a drawn out, “Daaaad,” we both laughed.
But then, something caught my eye.
“Is my daughter covered in glitter?”
Kenna held her palms up, a cheeky grin curling across her face.
With all the paper jewelry, I hadn’t noticed until now that her hands absolutely sparkled.
And if I knew one thing about glitter, it somehow multiplied exponentially and got absolutely everywhere.
I glanced down at my shoulder, spying a flash of sparkle where Kenna had touched my dress shirt.
I turned my unimpressed look on Madison, whose cheeks pinked as she gave me a sheepish look.
“In my defense,” she said, “this was a crafting afternoon. There have been zero screens involved and many fine motor skills developed.”
“But was glitter really necessary?” I grumbled.
“It was a vital part of the process, actually,” she insisted. “You can’t have paper crowns without glitter. What kind of operation do you think I’m running?”
I grimaced as Kenna rubbed at her cheek, leaving a smear of sparkle behind. Christ, cleanup is going to be a bloody nightmare. “Okay, you,” I said to her. “Time for a bath before you cover the whole house in glitter.”
“No,” she cried, giggling as she slipped off her stool.
“I want to stay sparkly!” She ran around the kitchen island, ducking past me on her way to the stairs.
I had a horrible vision of her diving onto her bed, spreading sparkles like germs. They’d get into every crease of her comforter, on her pillow, in the fur of her stuffed animals.
Florence would spend hours washing things to no avail.
This was how plagues began.
I surged after her. “Straight to the bathroom, please!”
She giggled louder, shrieking.
I glanced over my shoulder at Madison, who was suddenly very busy tidying the island. “Look what you did.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for our art.”
I gave her a flat look. “I’m going to be finding glitter everywhere.”
“Dunhope could use some more pizzazz,” she said, lifting her shoulder. “Some of the hallways are a little dreary.”
“I should have put a glitter clause in your contract.”
She smirked. “I’m a paralegal—I’ll have you know that I’m very good at finding loopholes in contracts.”
I glowered at her as she scooped up a box of craft supplies, nudging me with her hip as she passed. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said. “I’ll make sure the kid is clean.”
I followed her up the stairs.
“Hey, Ken?” Madison called as she swung by the playroom. “Remember you said you were going to show me those new tile markers you got for the bath?”
“Oh, yeah!” she said, crawling out from under a table. She shot me a little smile.
Truthfully, Kenna loved baths. It wasn’t usually difficult to convince her to get in the tub, but she was clearly in a goofy mood.
“Where are they?” Madison asked, looking through some of the gift bags from Christmas.
“Here!” Kenna called, yanking a package of washable bath markers from one of the bags. She skipped up to me, throwing her arms around my leg. “Daddy, can I use these?” A smear of glitter appeared on my trousers and I grimaced. I caught Madison’s smirk.
“If it gets you in the tub, I think it’s a fantastic idea.”
She squealed, taking her markers and skipping out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.
“See?” Madison said. “Crisis averted.”
I gestured to my trousers. Madison’s lips twitched as she gave me an up and down that made my pulse race, but she set off after Kenna without a word.
When I reached the bathroom, Madison was already sitting on the edge of the tub, adjusting the water temperature while Kenna collected her bath necessities from the cupboard—dolls with mermaid tails, an assortment of sea creatures, and even a floating tea set.
“Bubbles!” Kenna cried, producing a large bottle.
Madison took the soap and poured it beneath the running water, frothy white bubbles appearing a moment later.
Kenna clapped her hands together.
“No jumping,” I reminded her as she went to launch herself over the edge of the tub. The problem with Kenna liking baths was that she was an extremely exuberant bather. It took a lot of effort to keep the water in the tub.
I held my hand out, and Kenna took it as she carefully slipped over the edge of the tub, sinking into the bubbles with a giggle. She immediately kicked her little feet, sending a few spouts of water in Madison’s direction.
“Oops!” Kenna said. “Sorry.”
Madison reached for the nearest towel, drying her face. “You’ve gotta get this kid in swimming lessons,” she said to me.
“Braeburn doesn’t have a community pool.” I nodded to her. “You missed some.”
“What?”
I took the towel from her, dabbing at a couple bubbles by her temple, leaving behind a pink flush that crept down the side of her neck.
“Thanks.” Madison cleared her throat. “Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve got enough space for about forty Olympic-sized pools out back. Or, better yet, you could fund a community pool.”
Kenna did love the water. Perhaps something to consider if we were going to make Dunhope home for a while. A pitter-patter of feet caught my attention a moment too late.
“Princess!” Kenna exclaimed as the dog launched herself over the edge of the tub and into the water.
“Blasted dog,” I grumbled as a plume of water hit my chest.
“Princess, come here,” Madison said, laughing as she reached for the dog. She paddled out of reach, barking.
“No,” Kenna squealed, curling her arms around the sopping little rodent. “She’s swimming so good! She likes baths.”
“Probably in need of one, actually,” Madison said.
“That’s not my problem,” I groused. “Bathe your mutt some other time.”
“I call this multitasking.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“She’s a small dog, not some slime ball I found in a swamp,” Madison argued.
“No, a slime ball would be cute. She looks like a wet mop with teeth.” Kenna started splashing around as Princess barked. “And she’s turning this into a circus.”
“Okay, Grumpy Gus,” Madison said, frowning at me. “If anything, we’re improving bath time.”
“Out. Now,” I said, reaching for the menace. Princess stood up on her hind legs, paws against the side of the tub, and shook, drenching me in more gross dog water. Ack! I stood there, arms out, my dress shirt splattered.
Madison and Kenna both looked up at me wearing similarly amused expressions. Even Princess seemed to be laughing at me as she panted with her tongue out.
I exhaled sharply, rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. Madison watched me, her eyes flickering over my forearms as I sank to my knees, hands on the edge of the tub. “All right, no more faffing about.”
Kenna giggled at me. “No more faffing, Princess. I need a marker.” She wiggled her fingers, palm up. “I want to draw.”
Madison dutifully handed over a marker and I frowned as my daughter pulled the cap off, letting it drop into the water, and began to draw on the white tile above the tub. “I mean it. Where’s the shampoo?”