“Oh.” She climbs up onto the couch and snuggles into one of the pillows. I turn the television on for her and retreat into the kitchen to make coffee.
“Sorry,” Travis says as he comes up behind me.
“For what?” I ask, waiting for the pot to start filling.
“For not getting out sooner.”
“It’s fine, Travis. But you better order her some pancakes,” I say with a wink as I quickly move the glass pot out of the way to fill my mug. I need the caffeine to start my morning off right. He makes the all-important phone call, telling the restaurant that he’ll pay double if they’re here within the next fifteen minutes before he heads into the living room.
Once I’m a few sips into my coffee, I head back to the living room, where I find Travis sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep, and Lucy resting comfortably on his chest, zonked out, too.
This is how he wanted to start the morning, and I’m happy that he’s gotten his wish, even if I’m slightly jealous of my daughter. Instead of curling in around them, I opt for a shower, using this free time wisely. Usually, I shower with the door open in case Lucy needs me, but today I quietly shut it and plan to let the hot water massage my achy muscles.
By the time I get out, they’re awake and eating breakfast. I guess the restaurant really wanted double, because I thought I’d have more time.
“Smells yum…” My words trail off as I get an eyeful of Travis Kidd standing at my sink, washing dishes. Someone pinch me, because I think I’ve died and gone to la-la land. Could he be any sexier than he is right in his moment?
“It is,” Lucy says with a mouthful.
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Travis tells her, but he does it in a nonscolding manner. His voice is soft, yet stern, and makes me long to have someone else to help raise her. Being a single mom isn’t a cakewalk, and I do my best, but sometimes I feel like I’m letting her down.
“What’s your plan for the day?” Travis asks, interrupting my thoughts. When I look at him, he’s smiling, and I have a feeling he’s up to no good.
“Taking Lucy to meet Santa. She has a list that she would like to give him, and I have a few last-minute things to pick up.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?”
“I’m sure you’re busy, Travis. You don’t have to hang out with us.”
He turns from the sink and leans across the island, smiling. “If I didn’t want to be with you and Lucy, I wouldn’t have asked if I could go with you.”
I shrug, acting noncommittal even though I want him with us. Yesterday, everything changed, and I’m not referring to the sex. It was a culmination of being with him—everything from the laughing and skating to the stolen kiss. It was the way he was with Lucy when he realized that she was upset, how he pushed his fans away for her. To me, that means everything, and I know deep down that if I want to give him a chance, I should. Maybe if I talked to Jeffrey, he’d understand. But the likelihood is that he won’t, and if I ask him, I’d be putting my job in jeopardy. “If you want to come shopping with us, you can.”
His smile turns into a megawatt grin. “Perfect. I’m going to go home so I can take a shower and change.” He goes to tell Lucy goodbye, letting her know that he’ll be back shortly so we can go shopping. When he gets to me, he leans in and whispers, “I’ll make sure I have more than one condom this time,” and then he’s gone, leaving me speechless and gasping for air. Only the slamming of the door helps me catch my breath.
“Bath time, Lucy.” She jumps up and races me to the bathroom. She may be slightly excited to visit the man in the red suit today.
“Do you think Travis will want to sit on Santa’s lap?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, I don’t think so,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh. It’s hard to imagine a man Travis’s size sitting on the lap of Santa.
“Do you love him?”
Her question catches me off guard. I’m not ready to admit that I’m falling in love with him. It’s almost as if saying those words out loud would shift everything that is being built between us. Instead, I lie to my daughter. “As his friend, yes.”
Lucy stands in the tub while it’s filling. Why she does this, I’ll never know. But it’s her thing, so I let her do it.
“I love him.”
“I’m sure he loves you, too, Lucy.”
A few moments later, the bathwater is deep enough that I can start helping her wash. I fill up her cup with water and pour it over her head as she sits down. She spits, sputters, and starts laughing as the water cascades over her head, all while asking me to do it again. And I do, repeatedly, until it’s time for me to wash her hair. She can do the rest and prefers to be treated like a big girl.
With her out of the bath and dried off, I have the dubious task of putting on her tights. These contraptions are ten times worse for kids than they are for adults. The crazy amount of wiggling, twisting, and pulling has Lucy turning into a contortionist.
“Mommmiieeee.” She drags my name out as I shake her little body into the white nylons.
“There, all done. Now we can do your hair.” I tug her along behind me, back into the bathroom so I can blow-dry and curl her hair. Last year I did this and burned her forehead. It was an accident. She sneezed and I flinched, bumping the barrel into her skin. I felt horrible, but she reminds me of it every time I go to do her hair. “I’ll do the ends only, okay?”