“S-sorry, Daddy.” She gave him a smile. “I was away with the fairies. Do you know that fairies live in the garden?”
“I did know that,” he said solemnly.
“There’s good fairies and bad fairies,” she babbled, feeling nervous and worried. “When you hurt yourself, that’s the bad fairies.”
Where had that come from? A memory flashed to her. She’d been racing through the house and had slipped, crashing hard onto her knees. Her mom had picked her up, pulling her onto her lap.
Those bad fairies, she’d told six-year old Eden before kissing away all the pain.
“Princess? You all right? You’re not worried about the bad fairies, are you?”
She shook her head, smiling up at him. “No, sorry, Daddy. What did you say?”
“I asked where your hairbrush was. Do you usually brush your hair at night?”
She nodded her head. “It’s over on my dresser.”
He kissed her forehead and set her down on the couch before getting up and walking over to the dresser. Her bedroom wasn’t overly feminine. It was done in shades of gray, cream and pale green. But still, he looked very out of place. Or maybe it was just that she wasn’t used to anyone being in here except her. This was her haven from the rest of the world. Where she hid when she wasn’t ready to face reality.
He grabbed the wooden brush as well as a couple of hair ties, placing them over his hand so they sat around his wrists. Then he walked back to her. She expected him to hand the brush to her. Instead he moved so he was sitting on the back of the couch with her nestled between his legs, his bare feet resting on the couch cushions on either side of her butt.
“Zeke? What are you doing?”
“What do you call me?”
“Sorry. Daddy, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to brush out your hair. Figured it might be a bit uncomfortable for you to sit on the floor, so I thought I’d do it from up here.”
That was so thoughtful. He started to brush her hair. She half-expected him to tug at it. But he was surprisingly gentle. Unravelling each tangle. Her hair was a nightmare. It was so fine but there was a lot of it and it got in knots easily. He took his time, not getting impatient, just sweeping the brush through her hair.
Neither of them spoke but it was an easy silence.
She swayed slightly, surprised by the wave of tiredness that overtook her. She yawned.
“My baby girl is getting tired. Rest your head against my thigh while I braid it for you.”
“You know how to braid hair, Daddy?”
“Indeed, I do, little one. Daddy knows how to take care of his girl.”
Again, there was a pang of longing. The one that said she’d give anything to be his girl. Permanently.
This is just one night.
She admitted this wasn’t exactly what she’d expected him to do. To have him brush her hair until she was lulled into a sleepy state then part her hair into two braids.
He moved away from her after he’d finished, putting the hair brush back. Then he surprised her by returning and kneeling in front of her, running his hands up and down her thighs. Did he know she could feel that? Did he know the way his touch sent sharp pangs of need through her body?
Most people made assumptions when they looked at her. However, her incomplete spinal injury meant feeling in her legs often changed. She could still move her hips, had bladder and bowel control and could even move short distances using crutches.
He reached for her hands and rubbed his thumbs around her palms and she sighed as he massaged them gently. That felt so good.
“Is there anything else my girl needs before bedtime? A snack? Some water?”
“I usually, um, keep a water bottle by my bed.” She nodded over at the half-empty bottle on her bedside table.
He stood and took it into the bathroom to fill it. He set it back in place and came back to her, once again kneeling before her. She liked that he didn’t loom over her.