I wake and hear the sweet sound of laughter from the living room. It’s such a good sound, I slip out the door quietly and peek into the kitchen. Grace is on a chair and May is behind her with her hands over Grace’s guiding them with a sharp knife right through an onion.

“I’m crying!” Grace says, her voice filled with amusement.

May laughs. “It’s so sad we’re torturing this onion.” She places her chin on Grace’s shoulder and I’m struck by how normal this looks, and how incredible it feels. They slice through the onion and I hear Grace sniff.

And I realize I’m not worried. I know May won’t let Grace get hurt. It’s evident in her posture, in the easy way Grace leans back into her, trusting her with every motion.

“Rinse it with cold water,” I say and two sets of eyes meet me. Grace’s brown eyes are excited and happy as she sees me. May’s eyes are wide, troubled, yet wildly beautiful.

“Daddy!” Grace launches herself at me and I open my arms to catch her. With my arms around her, the world is suddenly okay again. I missed her more than I could ever imagine missing anyone.

My eyes meet May’s and I see something there. Perhaps it’s disappointment. But why? Because I asked her to be my fake fiancée?

Maybe I should talk to her.

“We’re about done with dinner prep,” May says, returning to cutting onion as I set Grace on her feet.

“Are you going to help?” Grace asks me and I look at May, who is ignoring me. Still, I can see her pulse in her soft throat and it’s much too quick. Perhaps the little miss is excited at the thought? My cock stirs but I tamp down those thoughts.

Gathering my thoughts, I ask, “Sure. What can I do?”

Grace lights up. But May shuts me down. “I think I’ve got this. Why don’t you two go catch up?” Grace nods, and I know she’s not sensing the tension mounting between May and I. But as my daughter takes my hand and leads me into the living room, I remember there’s something I wanted to talk to her about.

We sit on the couch and I start in quick. “Was Gertie hitting you?” I ask. Grace’s face falls a little and I hope that this betrayal of trust doesn’t come back on May.

“Yes,” Grace says, her face so very embarrassed I want to hug her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask gently. I don’t want her to think she’s in trouble, but I need to know why she didn’t trust me enough to come to me with this.

Her eyes find the floor and it’s all I can do not to tilt her chin up to look me in the eyes. “She tells me I’m not a lady.”

“Oh baby,” I say, gathering her into a hug. “You don’t have to be. You just have to be the best you you can be, okay?” I say, looking deep into her eyes as if I can convey the truth of my words.

“Promise?” she says, and I cross my finger over my heart.

She smiles and the cute expression lifts my heart. Everything in the world is better with her right here. And even the ugly moments manage to bring in good.

“Dinner,” May says, peeking her head in.

“Thank you,” I say as Grace bolts from my arms and into May’s grasp. I look at the two of them looking so much like a family it aches deep in the very depths of my soul. This is what I want for Grace. But it’s too much to ask of any woman. Even one as amazing as May.

* * *

“She’s asleep,” I say, a finger to my lips as I sneak out of Grace’s room and close the door behind me.

“She’s a light sleeper,” May says, a knowing look on her face. I nod in agreement and take her hand. Her skin is shockingly soft between my rough fingers as I lead her toward the front door. Still, it feels good to hold her like this. It feels right.

On the porch, we sit side by side on the swing. I notice the scent of her, sweet and floral. Her shining brown hair is bound up loosely, as if it wants nothing more than to escape. A few tendrils have and frame her face and cling to her neck in the fading heat of the Texas day.

“I need more time to think about it,” she says, and I nod. I didn’t expect a quick answer. It’s a huge favor.

“Did you have questions?” I ask, dreading the questions.

“Why?” she says, looking sideways at me as if she’s afraid to fully face me. I think a moment, trying to figure out the best way to tell her.

So I give her a short, sweet version. “My father and I don’t get along so well. He needs me to prove I’m a family man before he’ll really trust me.” It’s the reader’s digest version, but it’s not a lie. Her silence leaves me feeling like she’s thinking it over.

“But you are a family man,” she says finally, her voice filled with a sweet confusion. “You’re an amazing dad. All Grace does all day is sing your praises.”

“He means family man as in married man.” The words sting, even now, and I hate them as I spit them out like something bitter and vile I can expel.

She is quiet again and I look at her. There’s a far way look in her eyes as she stares toward her car.

“You don’t have to,” I say, needing her to know I’m not giving her an ultimatum. “You’re fully welcome to stay on as Grace’s caregiver for as long as you’re willing. She really likes you. And if you were to leave, I’d be in a bind.” As I think about it, the thought of her leaving fills me with something akin to fear.

Still, she’s silent, and we stare out at the stars side by side as a gentle night wind cools us.