Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(48)

His body will never show the effects of his love for ice cream, I’m certain of that. But there’s no way that statement is leaving my lips.

I lean one hip against the counter. “You have a thing for ice cream, don’t you?”

He laughs. “You’ve noticed?”

“That night, you told the cab driver to take us to an ice cream place.”

“I did.” He nods slowly. “But we never made it inside.”

The air around us changes, igniting with a pulse of energy. It fills me, pushing into my chest and limbs, capturing my rational thoughts and turning them foolish.

He feels it too. I know it in the way his lips peel apart, how his eyes instantly look deeper, like they’re holding more emotion than they were ten seconds ago.

“I’m ready to play cards,” Claire yells from somewhere beyond the island.

I blink and look away, grateful for her interruption.

“So are we,” Isaac yells into the open space. His voice is ragged.

We play cards until it’s Claire’s bedtime. She puts up a fuss about taking a bath, insisting I shut the bathroom door so Isaac can’t see the garbage bag I’ve wrapped around her arm to keep her cast from getting wet.

I’d thought her protests had to do with modesty, but she told me she was embarrassed of the contraption.

“You know,” I say, carefully leaning her head away from her hurt arm and pouring water over her soapy hair, “Your dad is the person who suggested we use this bag to bathe you. Remember at your first appointment?”

“Yes.” Her voice is tiny.

“So why can’t he see you like this?”

Her little shoulders shrug slowly. When her lower lip trembles, it nearly breaks my heart in two.

“What is it?” I ask, slicking her clean hair back over her head and squeezing out some of the excess water.

“Will Daddy leave? Will it just be me and you again? Will we have to go back to Grandpa’s?”

My forehead creases with my surprise. I wasn’t expecting such loaded questions.

For a second I contemplate lying, because it’s easiest, but I can’t. I don’t believe in false hope, and I certainly won’t set my daughter up to be disappointed. “I don’t know the future, but I do know your Daddy loves you very much, and he won’t ever be without you again.” She seems satisfied with my answer, and I relax. She’s pouring water from one cup to another when she asks, “Where did your mommy go?”

My hand, poised in the air to pour another bucket of water over her back, stills. I set the bucket down in the bath water and watch it tip over.

“I’m not sure, sweetie.” It’s the best I can manage when my brain cells are all falling over one another trying to process her question and the ramifications of answering it.

“Did she die?”

I gulp. Why has a seemingly normal bath time turned into a shock-Mommy marathon?

“Where did you learn about people dying?”

“Lincoln’s grandma died. He told me at school yesterday.”

“No, my mom didn’t die.” I pause, thinking. I guess I don’t know that for sure. “She wasn’t able to be a mommy anymore, and she had to leave me and Grandpa.”

Claire’s eyes are saucers, and I realize what I’ve done. “No, no, no, Claire, don’t worry. That will never happen to me. I’m meant to be your mommy. I’ll always be capable of that job.”

She nods, her eyes trusting me implicitly, and I think how amazing that would be. To trust someone like that. So childlike and naive. She has never been let down, and I’m dreading the day it happens.

“Are you ready to get this bag off your arm and let your dad tuck you in?”

Claire stands, and we work together to get her ready for bed. When we emerge from the bathroom Isaac is already there, waiting against the wall beside her bedroom door. I sit on the end of her bed while Isaac reads to her and situates her arm. We both say good-night and step out of her room, pulling the door shut.

He looks at me, face serene. “I know it’s only been a month and a half since her break, but it feels like I’ve been waiting a long time for her.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I smile. As we stand there, the awkwardness creeps back in until I finally think of something to say. “I’m going to bed too. It’s been a busy day.”

Isaac’s expression goes from serene to sad. He looks like he wants to say something, maybe tell me how lame I am for a twenty-something, but all that comes out is, “OK.”

Before the confusing energy between us can tidal-wave me to the ground again, I make my escape with a lousy good-night.

I’m in the safety of my new room when my phone chirps from the dresser.

Britt: Have a nice night. Hope things are going well for you.

I’m typing my response when another text comes in.

Isaac: Thank you for agreeing to move in here. I know it’s not ideal for you, but knowing that tonight I’m going to sleep under the same roof as my daughter means everything to me.

My fingers move an inch above the keys as I contemplate what to say. After a moment, I settle on a response.

Me: It’s best for Claire, and she’s what matters.

I bite my lip and turn, my gaze caught by the gorgeous blue comforter he chose. The energy hits me, and he’s not even here. I’m picturing Isaac in a store, standing in front of all the bedding, trying to find a comforter he hopes I’ll like.