Without skipping a beat, Amelia takes my hand and drags me to her room to show me each and every single Barbie in her collection. We spend the majority of the morning just like this. Laughing. Playing.
Ryder appears in the doorway. “Lunch will be here soon.”
“Daddy said we can have pizza to celebrate.” I glance over at Ryder to smile and show how much I love her enthusiasm, but when I look, his eyes are focused on her. There’s awe in them only Amelia can instill. Amelia and the word ‘daddy,’ I’m sure.
I don’t know the details of where Amelia’s mom is or why Ryder just found out he has a daughter. Curious as I am, it’s something that will remain a mystery because, frankly, it’s none of my business.
“I love pizza,” I tell her.
“Me, too. Daddy and I like pepperoni.”
“Same.”
“What should we do after lunch?” Amelia begins to rattle off ideas, ticking each one off on a finger.
“Amelia, relax. Ember’s not going anywhere. We should probably let her get settled in and relax a little.”
The sound of the doorbell draws her away.
“Pizza,” Amelia shouts as she runs for the door. Ryder carries the pizza in, Amelia grabbing for the box the whole way. “I want a breadstick.”
“Not yet,” he says playfully, slapping her hand away. “Guests first.”
That’s when I notice how different he looks from the man I met at the bar. That man was a man’s man, a hot guy looking for a good time. Now, he looks like a dad. He’s still hot—smoking hot—but there’s a fun, playful side to him when he’s with Amelia. He seems relaxed and happy. My ovaries, the ones that swore I never wanted children, want to explode.
Ryder puts the food on the table, and Amelia begins stuffing her mouth with a breadstick before Ryder and I even sit down.
“How many Barbies do you have?” Amelia asks, her mouth stuffed with breadstick, pieces falling out.
I hide my laughter. As cute as I think it is, I almost feel like it’s a test, a way for Ryder to see how I handle things.
“No talking with your mouth full,” I instruct Amelia, who promptly spits the food onto her plate.
This time, I can’t control it. I burst out laughing, as does Ryder.
“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Unfortunately, I’m laughing too hard to take this lesson any further. For that matter, so is Ryder.
“Amelia,” he scolds, between chuckles.
“What?”
When we’d settled down at the table to eat, I was afraid things would be awkward—far from it. In fact, things feel… right, easy. Too easy, maybe. Conversation flows between Ryder and me, with Amelia chiming in on occasion, not wanting to be left out.
We finish eating, and my hand reaches for Ryder’s plate to clean up. I may not have been able to set the table since I don’t know where anything is, but I can certainly clean it. Ryder snatches it away before I can grab it.
“I hired you to take care of Amelia. Not be the maid.”
“True, but you’re letting me live here… for free, and I have every intention to pitch in.”
“Really? Am I going to have to put more rules in place?”
“Rules are meant to be broken, Ryder,” I challenge. Only as I say it, we’re too close. There’s too much of a draw. So much more meaning behind the words than I realized when I said them.
“Is that so?”
“Ember, I made this for you,” Amelia says, handing me a sheet of paper. On it is a picture of a house, with the words ‘Welcome Home’ scribbled across the top in big, messy letters.
Tears well in my eyes.