Page 20 of Icebound Hearts
Plus, it gives Violet a bit of a break, which I figured she could use after a week of adjusting to little boy energy. She’s been hanging on remarkably well, keeping up with Jake and treatinghim with endless gentle patience, but I thought she might be happy to have an hour or two to herself over the weekend.
“Come on, Daddy!”
Jake tugs on my hand, pulling me toward the section of the large grocery store where we usually start our shopping. It just so happens to be a spot where they hand out free samples of baked goods, which is probably why he loves starting there so much.
“Okay, okay,” I tell him, chuckling as I wheel the cart in that direction. “Let’s go.”
We swing by the sample station, and the elderly woman manning it gives Jake a warm smile andtwolittle pieces of coffee cake. He beams up at her, and I can’t stop myself from grinning. I’ve never met anyone that can win people over faster than my son.
He sticks close to my side as we make our way down the aisles, the two of us chatting about his school and my last game as I grab items off the shelves.
As we make our way down the cereal aisle, I grab an extra box of cornflakes without even really thinking about it. When we hit the freezer section, I grab two tubs of ice cream—vanilla—and although I’m more of a simple black coffee drinker, I pick up some of the vanilla hazelnut coffee that I’ve noticed Violet prefers to drink.
There are a few other things I know she likes as well: a certain brand of pickles, smooth peanut butter instead of crunchy, and some kind of miniature chocolate wafer cookie that she described to me in great detail the other day. I grab all of them, putting them in the cart alongside the vegetables, meat, and eggs that are staples in my house.
As I turn the heavily laden cart into the last aisle, Jake goes up on his tiptoes to peer at the items inside, his face scrunching up a little.
“That’s different than what we normally get,” he observes, and the cart jolts as I freeze for a heartbeat, following his gaze.
He’s right. I didn’t really set out to do it, but I’ve been shopping for Violet just as much as I’ve been shopping for Jake and me.
“You’re right,” I tell him, pushing the cart forward again. “Since we have Ms. Violet staying with us now, it’s just polite to get a few things that we know she’ll like too.”
Honestly, it’s a lot more than a few things, but I’m hoping that Jake’s sometimes unnervingly sharp observational skills won’t lead him to comment on that.
He doesn’t, but he does look up at me, curiosity gleaming in his gray eyes. “How do you know what Ms. Violet likes?”
My stomach clenches slightly. I know because I can’t seem to stop noticing things about her. I can’t seem to stop my gaze from finding its way to her whenever we’re in the same room. Can’t seem to keep myself from cataloguing all of her quirks and habits, as if there’s going to be a test on all things Violet Sutton one day and I’m determined to ace it.
The first night that Violet and I sat up talking late into the evening because she couldn’t sleep wasn’t the last. Actually, we’ve met up downstairs after Jake is asleep nearly every night since. We never agreed to make it a thing, it just sort of happened. When she first moved in, I was worried that having someone else in my space would be weird or uncomfortable, but it’s turned out to be the exact opposite.
Those late-night talks and the other small moments I share with her are what I look forward to every day.
But I can’t tell Jake that. Hell, I can barely even admit it to myself, because it brings up a whole slew of questions and problems that I’m not prepared to deal with. But my son is still staring at me, waiting for an answer, so I smile at him.
“That’s just what friends do. We learn about the people we care about.”
He lights up. “Like me and Chewy! That’s how I know how much he loves carrots.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.”
Jake seems satisfied with that answer, so we continue on down the final aisle and then head for the checkout. He helps me get everything into the car, and when we get back to the house, Violet is curled up on what I’m starting to think of as her spot on the couch. She’s got her lower lip trapped between her teeth as she reads the Julia Child book she picked up the other night, and for a second, I’m struck all over again by how fucking gorgeous she is. She’s makeup-free, wearing a pair of comfy-looking pants with a faded band tee, her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail—and still, she’s one of the most naturally stunning women I’ve ever seen.
She looks up when we enter, her eyes warming as she smiles brightly. “Hey, you two! That was faster than I expected.”
“’Cause Daddy had me there to help him,” Jake declares proudly, and I muss up his hair.
“That’s right,” I agree. “And I could use a little more help getting the last few bags out of the trunk. You up for it?”
He nods enthusiastically, and Violet hops off the couch to go help him while I carry the bags we already brought inside to the kitchen. By the time they return with the last of it, I’m already unpacking the first set of bags.
Violet and Jake set their load down on the island in the middle of the large room, and she starts digging things out and handing them to him so that he can help put them away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pull out the cornflakes box, a surprised grin crossing her face. When she pulls out the two containers of vanilla ice cream next, she does a little double take, glancing over at me.
A little line appears between her brows, the question clear on her face even though she doesn’t vocalize it.
“I want you to feel at home here,” I tell her by way of explanation, keeping my voice casual. “This is your place too, for the next few months. So you should have the things you like stocked in the kitchen.”