Page 35 of On the Shelf

But seeing them together also made something else clear—keeping Chuck at arm’s length to protect Winnie might teach her to keep the world at arm’s length, stifle the trust and empathy that fed her imagination.

As if sensing his thoughts, Chuck caught Niall’s eye over Winnie’s head. The warmth in his gaze was unmistakable, as was the question—was this okay? Was Niall okay with this growing bond between Chuck and his daughter?

Niall gave a small nod, and Chuck’s smile widened. Something like relief passed over his face, and then he turned his attention back to Winnie’s excited questions.

The Saturday rush kept Niall busy at the counter, but he found his gaze constantly drawn to the back of the store, where Chuck and Winnie worked together on the treehouse. Chuck had set her up with a child-sized tool belt and was teaching her how to measure and mark the wood, letting her help in ways that were safe but kept her involved and important.

By closing time, the platform was cut and braced, waiting to be lifted. Winnie, exhausted but happy, was curled up in one of the reading chairs nearby, watching through half-lidded eyes. She was surrounded by fake leaves and twine, making vines, no doubt.

“Is he coming back tomorrow?” Winnie asked, not looking up from her vines. “Because he said the branches were next, and there’s three.”

“He’ll be here.”

“Okay.” She went back to twisting wire. “I just want to know how many.”

“I think someone’s ready for dinner and an early bedtime.” Niall worked his way back to the growing tree as the last customer left the store.

Winnie yawned, not bothering to deny it. “Can Chuck come to dinner?”

Niall glanced at Chuck, who was at that moment keeping his eyes on his work. “I’m sure Chuck has plenty of other plans—”

“Actually, I’m free,” Chuck interrupted, meeting Niall’s eyes. “If that’s an invitation.”

“Please, Dad?” Winnie pleaded, now fully awake again. “He’s building me a tree and a house. The least we can do is feed him.”

Put like that, refusing would have made him the ungrateful one. And if Niall was being honest with himself, he wanted Chuck to stay even more than his daughter did. The thought of extending this day, of having Chuck across his table again, was too tempting.

“Of course,” he said. “Dinner’s the least we can offer. Though I should warn you, it’s probably going to be stir fry. Again. It’s the only way I can get some people to eat actual vegetables.”

“I love stir fry.” Chuck’s wide smile suggested he’d have said the same regardless of the menu. “And vegetables.”

“It’s settled, then,” Winnie declared. Discussion closed. “Chuck’s coming to dinner.”

As they closed up the store and headed upstairs, Niall tried to skirt the agitation welling up in him. This was different from the night before—beyond two guys with all the usual bulges and urges and the horizontal rumba the evening might lead to. This was Chuck coming into their home, into their family routine, with Winnie eager to include him.

At home, Winnie immediately dragged Chuck to see her room, eager to show him her row of Nancy Drews and the solar system hanging from her ceiling. Niall busied himself in the kitchen. He heated the wok and chopped vegetables for a simple sauce as he listened to the sound of his daughter’s animated chatter and Chuck’s attentive responses drifting down the stairs.

When they came back, Winnie was carrying her chess set. “Chuck says he plays chess. Can we play after dinner, Dad?”

“Sure,” Niall agreed, surprised. “I didn’t know you played.”

“My grandpa taught me.” Chuck came over to lean against the counter. “He was a stickler for strategy games. Said they built character.”

“Did they?” Niall asked. Niall’s own grandparents hadn’t had much patience with crafts or questions.

“Well… in my case?” Chuck grinned. “Nope. But they did teach me how to make decisions and lose gracefully, which came in handy later in life.”

Niall asked about Chuck’s grandfather, about his childhood, about all the crazy stories that had shaped him into the man who now stood in Niall’s kitchen, offering to lay out silverware as if there was nowhere else he belonged.

Dinner was a lively affair. Winnie dominated the conversation, peppering Chuck with questions about fantasy novels, the treehouse, his school pranks, and whether he’d ever met any famous people. (“A few,” Chuck admitted, “but they were mostly jerks.”)

After they’d eaten and cleared the table, Winnie set up the chessboard with solemn ceremony. “I should warn you,” she told Chuck with grave intent, “I’m pretty good. Dad says I’m a natural.”

“I consider myself warned,” Chuck replied, matching her gravity.

Niall settled on the couch with a book, ostensibly reading but watching the game unfold more than anything. Chuck was indeed a skilled player, but he didn’t patronize Winnie by letting her win. Instead, he played honestly but took time to explain his moves and strategies; he turned the game into a teaching opportunity without ever making her feel inferior.

When Winnie pinned his king, her victory was genuine and her delight infectious. “I won! Dad, did you see? I beat Chuck!”