“You want a hug?” she asked him.
“Hug me,” he said, already burrowing into her arms.
“Oh, that’s such a nice hug,” she told him.
And it felt even better knowing he had asked for it himself. Willow knew that Henry’s development was unfolding at its own pace, and other than giving him a little space and a lot of encouragement, it had nothing to do with her or with Jensen. But she would always be grateful that he felt safe with her and motivated enough to use his words.
When Henry was finished with his snuggle, they cleaned up his toys and washed their hands. By then, Jensen had their plates at the table. Each plate had a serving of eggs and one cinnamon bun, drizzled with warm glaze.
“Oh, let me just grab the juice,” Willow said, dashing to the kitchen and coming back with a carton of orange juice.
She poured herself and Jensen a glass, then started a sippy cup for Henry.
“Nah, nah,” Henry said.
She turned to find him looking up at her from his booster seat, his gray eyes twinkling.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“Orange,”he said right away.
“Orange who?” she asked.
“Orange glad juice?”he yelled, in a pretty good imitation of his dad’s advertising jingle.
Henry broke into chuckles, clearly delighted with himself, as Jensen roared.
Henry had certainly heard that line repeated often enough. Folks loved to greet his dad with it whenever heleft the house. Willow was glad that Jensen took it as the friendly greeting it was.
“Henry, you just made a very good knock-knock joke,” Willow told him. “That was amazing.”
“You,”Henry demanded.
“I should do one now?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, nodding.
“Knock, knock,” she said.
“Who there?” he asked.
“Olive,” she told him.
“Who?” he asked.
“I loveyou,” she told him.
He was so tickled she thought he might slide right off his booster and under the table.
“Okay, okay, let’s eat some breakfast while it’s still warm,” she said, sitting down beside him.
They had started putting Henry’s chair and booster at the end of the kitchen table so they could both be next to him. Jensen winked at her from across the table, and just like always, her breath caught in her throat.
A few hours later,she was in the ladies’ room at the little church, with a few friends helping her with her hair and makeup.
“Pink or red?” Mrs. Lennox asked, holding up two tubes of lipstick.
“Just a little pink,” Willow told her. “Thank you.”
