Ivy deserved a cozy home, not one with a draft and a ceiling that leaked when it rained. With monsoon season rolling in, I could only hope it held up. At least for a little while.
I was feeling damn near accomplished. Four years ago, before arriving in Bristlecone Springs, the only thing I knew how to fix was a high I couldn’t afford to chase. I couldn’t hold a job, couldn’t keep a promise, and sure as hell couldn’t be trusted with a hammer. Now here I was, patching roofs and praying they held, doing my damndest to build something Ivy could count on. To be a better man for her.
I sat with my back against the worn couch cushions, legs stretched out, and Ivy perched on the ottoman with hertongue peeking out the corner of her mouth in fierce concentration. She had a tiny bottle of bubblegum pink polish clutched in one fist and was painting my nails with all the intensity of a brain surgeon. The polish was gloopy, the brush kept catching on my cuticles, and it smelled like chemicals and sugar… but I let her do it anyway.
Hell, she was happy. That was all that mattered. I’d taken the day off work just for this.
“Almost done?” I asked softly.
She gave me a stern look. “No talk, Daddy.Gotta… got to…” She frowned, scrunching her face. “Gotta cen-cen-tate.”
I huffed a laugh and nodded, familiar enough with her talk to know she meant she had to concentrate. “All right, all right. No talking.”
The look on her face was way too serious. I yawned, leaning back against the cushion and closing my eyes for a minute. Last night I’d slept badly, weighed down by decisions that needed to be made and old doubts that I could never be a good father.
One minute Ivy was humming under her breath and gently pulling at my hand, and the next?—
Silence.
Warmth.
I blinked awake. A throw blanket was tucked under my chin. My hand was still resting on the ottoman, the pink polish cap screwed on beside it.
And no Ivy in sight.
Fuck. I’d fallen asleep.
My heart jumped into my throat.
“Ivy?” I sat up too fast, the blanket falling away. “Ivy!”
I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding, half expecting to find her curled in a ball, crying or God forbid, hurt. The polished nails meant nothing now. All I could think aboutwas the fact that I had fallen asleep. I’d let my baby fend for herself.
“Here, Daddy.”
I found her in the kitchen.
She was kneeling on the floor, clutching a soggy roll of paper towels in her small fingers. A puddle shimmered beneath her, and she looked up with a start. Her face crumpled instantly.
“I’m… I’m s-sorry, Daddy.”
My gut clenched. “Hey, hey,” I said gently, kneeling beside her. “What happened?”
“W-wanted water. Y-you was sleepy,” she stammered, lip wobbling. “Dropped… I dropped it and I… I….”
I took the paper towels from her sticky hands and pulled her into my arms.
“Baby, it’s okay. It’s just water.” I brushed her hair back from her forehead.
She sniffled. “Ivy made mess.”
“Messes happen. Next time, just call Daddy, all right? Even if he’s sleeping. You don’t ever have to handle something on your own, okay?”
She nodded, her nose brushing my neck. “But… but you was tired.”
My throat tightened. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still your daddy, and I’m always gonna show up for you. No matter what.”
She leaned back slightly, considering me with those big, wise eyes, placing her hands on my cheeks. “You ’kay now?”
