Page 53 of Worth the Fall
“Is it Matthew?” I pressed. “He seems really fun and silly,” I said before noticing Thomas shifting in his seat at the mention of his brother. “You know, I just moved in next door to him, so I get to see him all the time.”
Thomas did not like that one bit, which I found more than a little interesting. His shoulders tensed, and his jaw set tight as he avoided my eyes. The more I stared in his direction, the more he stared at his daughter.
Her little hands dropped away from her face. “You do? You live next door to Uncle Matthew?”
“Uh-huh. So, is he your favorite?” I asked again.
She shook her head back and forth. “Nope. But you can’t tell him. Promise?”
“I promise,” I said, and before I knew it, she was extending her pinkie in my direction. I took it with my own and gave it a little shake.
“Pinkie promise,” she said before leaning toward me and whispering, “I like Uncle Patrick the best. He’s my favorite. He has a dog, and he built me my very own room at his new house.”
My jaw dropped open before I snapped it shut. “He built you a room at his house?”
“It has a place for him to French braid my hair and everything. And my own bed. I love him the most,” she said with a soft smile, and Thomas finally met my gaze, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Patrick knows how to French braid?”
She nodded. “I think Miss Addi taught him. My daddy can only regular braid.”
I tucked that little bit of knowledge away for a rainy day as I reached for her long hair and ran my fingers through it. “Have you ever had fishtails in your hair?” I asked, and her little face scrunched up like she’d bitten into something sour.
“Ew, fish? Why would I want fishtails in my hair?”
“It’s just what they’re called.” I giggled. “They aren’t real fish. It’s another kind of braid. I’ll do it for you sometime if you want,” I offered.
Before she could respond, Mrs. Baker appeared, carrying her notepad and a pencil.
“Sorry I took so long. Can I get you three something else to drink? Do you know what you want to eat, or do you still need some time?” She tapped the pencil on top of the pad before eyeballing me. “You want a waffle, don’t you?”
I started laughing. “Am I that transparent?”
“You always order the specialty waffle, sugar.”
She was right.
I did.
Clara’s head shot up. “I want the waffle too.”
“Oh, you do, do you? Do you want buttermilk or pumpkin?” she asked.
Clara shotmea look instead of her dad, which I sort of loved.
She cupped her hand over her mouth and tried to ask quietly, “Which one do you get?”
I leaned down and did the same back to her. “I get the pumpkin one, but maybe you should try buttermilk, and we can share.”
Clara nodded. “I’d like buttermilk, please, Mrs. Baker the Great,” Clara answered, and I smiled.
“You got it. I can’t believe how grown up you’ve gotten. How old are you now?” Mrs. Baker asked with a grin.
“I’m eight,” Clara announced.
“Wow.” Mrs. Baker looked at Thomas. “Eight already? Time sure does fly.” She sounded somewhat nostalgic, and I wondered how well she had known Thomas and Jenna when they were together.
“Do you know what you’d like, Thomas?”