Be still my heart. I grab the bottle, twist off the top, and carry it to her. “Can you manage with one hand, Little one?”
“I think so.” She’s clearly awkward, though, so I don’t release it.
“I have another idea.” Will she lose her shit if I put this in a sippy cup? I might not have many things for Little girls because this is totally unexpected, but I think I have a few sippy cups. I keep them on hand for when my buddies come over with their Littles.
I open the cabinet, push the first few sippy cups aside, and find one with handles. Without a word, I fill it, twist the top on, and return to June. My heart is racing. This is huge.
She eyes the cup suspiciously when I set it in front of her. Finally, she grins at me. “That’s perfect.” She picks it up without complaint with her good hand, which is obviously not her dominant one, and takes a drink. No. Not a drink. She downs the water. The poor girl was dying of thirst. Shit.
I turn and grab the bottle. When she’s done, I refill it immediately. “I should have offered you a drink earlier. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t realize I was thirsty until I started drinking.”
“Well, you can have as much as you want.” It won’t hurt her. It’s all-natural, made from water, apple juice, and natural flavors. She already told me she likes apple juice.
I have to drag myself away from her. While I make pancakes and scrambled eggs, I ask her about other foods and learn she doesn’t like much meat unless we count chicken nuggets. She will, however, eat cheese, which gives her protein. She likes some yogurts. Cottage cheese. Mac and cheese. Ice cream. I won’t have to force milk products into her. But she does not, however, drink milk.
Veggies are a different story altogether. Smoothies she was uncertain about, but I’ll be on a mission to prepare smoothies for her that contain as many fruits and veggies as I can hide.
She likes spaghetti, so I’ll make sure she’s not watching when I load that sauce up with pureed veggies. I feel confident I can keep her healthy. It just might take some experimenting. Trial and error.
I’m beyond pleased that there’s one rubber spork in my silverware drawer, and even more so when June giggles as I set it in front of her.
“Are you afraid I might stab myself with a metal utensil?”
“It’s possible. You don’t seem very ambidextrous,” I tease. “Now, how do you feel about real maple syrup? I should have asked that first.” I don’t have the high-fructose-corn-syrup variety.
“I’ve never tried it.”
I grab it from the fridge, pour some in a small dish, and pop it in the microwave for ten seconds. I add it to her plate and bring it to the island. Before setting it in front of her, I cut up the pancakes into bite-sized pieces.
She’s holding her lip between her teeth again as she watches me. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s the goal.” I take her good hand and kiss her fingertips. “It’s all part of my masterplan to ensure you never want to leave.”
Her face drops, and she looks away.
Shit. Fuck.
That probably came out wrong.
I rub her knuckles against my beard. “I’m not him,” I remind her gently.
“I know.”
“But he lured you with kindness and then turned the tables, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay.”
I decide to take a chance and do some guesswork. I sit on the stool next to hers, turn hers so she’s facing me with her knees between mine, and pull her plate in front of me. After stabbing into a bite of eggs, I hold the spork up to her mouth.
She stares at it a moment and then opens for me. After chewing and swallowing, she says, “Those are really good.”
I stab a bite of pancake next and dip it in the syrup. “See what you think about the syrup.”
