Page 39 of Worth the Try
His gaze darkens as his jaw clenches, but his voice stays the same as he answers, “Sounds good.”
“Daddy, can Cleocatra come over, too?”
He raises an eyebrow at her.
“Please?” she wheedles. “I’ve barely gotten any time with her today and she probably misses me.”
He laughs, then looks over to me. “If Elodie says it’s okay, then that’s fine with me.”
Without missing a beat, Rosalie whips her pleading eyes to me.
“Of course,” I say with a grin. “See you in a bit.”
I shower and throw on a casual cotton dress that falls to my knees, needing the loose fabric after being in the bathing suit a little too long. I let my hair stay down to air dry, throwing a silk hair tie around my wrist for later. Grabbing Cleo in one hand and my phone in the other, I make my way back to the house.
Rosie immediately takes the cat, hugging her tightly, and I laugh as Cleo’s tail swishes in resigned irritation. “Be gentle,” I remind her.
“I know,” she responds, placing a kiss on Cleo’s head.
It’s not long before the three of us are huddled around the island, putting our individual pizzas together. Ansel’s is light on cheese but heavy on the veggies; mine is a solid mix of cheese, pepperoni and mushroom; and Rosie’s is very,verypineapple heavy. It’s easy being around them, watching the way they are together. The love, the teasing, the gentle lessons he manages to weave into everything. As I watch him show her the buttons to press on the oven, I’m struck by the knowledge that it doesn’t hurt to be here. To be with a man and his daughter, even though they represent the very thing I’ll never get to have. And shouldn’t it hurt? Shouldn’t it, I don’t know, make me sad that I’ll never get to have the experience of being pregnant?
It doesn’t. Holy crap. Itdoesn’t.I want to jump up and down and shout with the realization. It’s a cool balm, a relief against the scorching desert of heartbreak that I’ve waded through for so long.
I’m not sure when it happened, this acceptance. But, my goodness, does it feel amazing. The contentment of it is something I never thought I’d experience. And who knows? Maybe it’s not permanent, but for now? I’ll take it.
When the pizza is ready, we eat at the small table in the kitchen, each of us sharing bites of our pizza with everyone else, and Rosalie declares both my and Ansel’s creations to be disgusting.
Ansel just laughs. “Hey, at least I’m not the one eating pineapple like a monster.”
Rosie harrumphs and crosses her arms. “You’re just jealous mine is better.”
After the kitchen is cleaned, Ansel looks at his daughter, still clad in her swimsuit. “Time for a bath.”
“Can I keep my suit on?”
He shakes his head. “Not this time.”
“It’ll be like the pool, only inside the tub. Please?” she begs, blinking big eyes up at him. When he doesn’t so much as give an inch, she deflates. “Fine. But can Elodie give me a bath?”
“Elodie’s probably ready to relax,” Ansel says.
“I don’t mind,” I say. And I don’t. “Show me the way, Rosie girl.”
Rosie bounces on her toes. “Yay!” She runs to me and grabs my hand, leading me to the stairs and then letting go as she climbs. “Come on! You haven’t seen the bathtub yet. It’shuge!”
I look back at Ansel for permission. He nods, a small smile on his face, and I take that as my cue. Turning to Rosie, I crouch and raise my hands into the air, forming claws. “You’d better run!”
She squeals and runs up the steps. I follow at a leisurely pace, the sound of Ansel’s warm laugh at my back.
I head in the direction of Rosalie’s voice, going past her bedroom and to the end of the hallway, where Ansel’s room is. Ipause at the threshold before walking in, knowing I’m crossing into what feels like the final frontier of the house.
The room is undeniably masculine, but not overly so. The walls are painted a dove gray; the king-size bed framed in glossy black wood and covered with a white down comforter. Light blue pillows are on top, and there’s an overstuffed light blue armchair in a makeshift alcove beside the window. The comforting scent is unmistakable: Spice and soap, clean and warm. Ansel.
“Why are you just standing there?” Rosalie asks, poking her head out from the bathroom door. “Come on! Daddy always turns the faucet on, but then I get to put in as many bubbles as I want. And I use alotof bubbles.”
I grin. “Do you now?”
It is, in fact, an unbelievable amount of bubbles. And the bathtub is, just like she said, huge. She wasn’t kidding. It could hold three of me and still be comfortable.
