“Thanks.” I squeezed her tight. “I need a recipe for your chicken soup. The kind you always made us when we were sick.”
She pulled back and looked at me in surprise. “Why do you need a chicken soup recipe?”
“Bethany’s little girl is sick. Ear infection. It would be nice to be able to take them soup tomorrow for lunch, and I want to make it myself.”
Mom’s face softened and she grinned. “You got it.”
I followed her to the kitchen where she took her wooden recipe box out of the cabinet. In the back was a small pencil and a few index cards. She fingered through the cards until she found the one that she wanted.
She talked about making the soup as she wrote, giving me instructions about how often to stir, when to add spices, and that I could cheat by buying a premade rotisserie chicken at the grocery store and cut a lot off of my cooking time. “You always wanted my soup when you were sick,” she reminisced. “It was my Nana’s recipe. I’m glad you want to make it for Tiffany. It makes my mother’s heart proud.” She flicked away an imaginary tear as I laughed at her.
Once she finished writing the recipe, she held it up but didn’t give it to me. “Are you sure about this? Once you start down this path, there’s no turning back.”
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
She handed me the recipe and stood. I gave her another hug. “Thanks, Mom. I knew you’d help me.”
We made plans to have dinner the next week, and I headed toward my truck. Dad waited on the front porch.
“Once you fall in love with that little girl, there’s no escaping it,” Dad said.
The acceptance letter still in my pocket got heavier. More like having a brick in my pants instead of a piece of paper.
I considered how I reacted to Tiffany being sick, and I realized it was probably too late for me. My need to protect them was overcoming anything else. “See you later, Pop.”
Dad saluted me. And that was that.
11
Bethany
I slept with the baby monitor next to my ear and woke up every time I heard the slightest sound, but Tiffany slept through the night. She didn’t wake up until I sat sipping my second cup of coffee and scrolling through social media. “Mommy?” Her little voice sounded thin and reedy.
She shuffled into the kitchen. I held my arms open. “Come on, sweet cheeks.”
My little monkey definitely still didn’t feel good, because normally she would’ve bounded into my arms with a squeal. Instead, she walked slowly and held her arms up for me to lift her. “Poor Doodle,” I crooned. “How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts and my neck hurts.” She pointed to the front of her neck.
“You mean inside your neck?” Her pitiful little nod made me hug her close. She meant her throat. I wished desperately I could’ve felt the pain for her, but of course, that wasn’t how life worked.
I lifted her in my arms and walked to the bathroom beside her bedroom. After rummaging around for a thermometer, I walked her through holding it under her tongue until it beeped. “Hey,” I said and squeezed her tight. “Your fever is down. How about a popsicle to celebrate?”
She nodded almost eagerly. It was still very pitiful and lethargic compared to her normal levels of enthusiasm. I was just grateful her temperature was under a hundred.
“I’m sleepy,” Tiffany whispered halfway through her popsicle. I figured she’d want to rest more. Ear infections always took it out of her.
We dropped the popsicle in the sink, and I hummed as I held my girl close, then tucked her into bed. After I got the correct dose of her antibiotic and gave her a bit of pain medicine, I stretched out beside her and thought about all the things her dad had missed over the three years since she’d been born. I liked to think he was there for it all, watching from heaven.
When her breathing was even and steady, I closed her bedroom door and headed to the kitchen. This was a good opportunity to get some cleaning in, starting with the groceries Maddox had laid out so carefully. He’d even put them in neat rows by food type.
By late morning, I’d made my way through most of the kitchen, disinfecting and wiping everything down, when my phone beeped on the island. It was a text from Maddox. Hope you’re getting hungry. On my way.
He’d said he would bring lunch, but I’d been expecting him to put it off or something. I didn’t know why I expected him to let me down but knowing for sure he was coming over set my stomach on fire. I had no idea what to expect.
The doorbell interrupted my vacuuming, and I nearly jumped when I heard it. Scrambling toward the door, I opened it to find Maddox on my doorstep with his arms full of paper bags. “Madd,” I exclaimed. “You should’ve told me you intended to cook! I probably have some of the ingredients already.”
He shook his head. “Nope, I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything today. This is all on me.” He leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss right on my lips. It took my breath away, to my chagrin. I didn’t know why he affected me so strongly.
I mean, sure, he was super hot. But this was more a personality thing. When I was with him, the hotness factor melted away and he was just Maddox. I didn’t sit and think about how hot he was.
“Ma’am, go back to what you were doing. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He nodded with his lips pursed and walked around me, through the living room, and into the kitchen. I loved my open floor plan, even more at the moment. It meant as he moved
