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I peek around the doorway to the playroom. The scene that greets me makes me shake my head with amusement.
Bree is sitting on the floor, her curly hair tied up in a gloriously messy bun. Streaks of bright blue and yellow paint adorn her face, the shades clashing terribly with the freckles that dot over her dinky nose.
She’s surrounded by a slapdash of wet paintings and art supplies that are strewn across the floor. A painting lesson which certainly looks like it has gone wonderfully awry. Or knowing Bree, exactly as she planned.
Havana, my unruly daughter, is half-collapsed on the floor beside Bree, holding her sides as she dissolves into a fresh peal of giggles. She points her finger at Bree’s face. “Your nose is blue. You don’t look like a Disney princess!”
Bree feigns wide-eyed shock, her hand flying to her paint-smeared nose. “What do you mean, it’s blue? What’s happening to me? Am I sick, Hettie? Oh no, I must look like an ogre.”
Hettie, the quietest of my twin five-year-old girls, regards Bree with a serious expression as she shakes her head slowly. “No silly, it’s paint. You’re still very pretty.”
I’m glad to see serious Hettie’s face streaked with smudges of crimson and emerald.
Bree places her hand on her forehead. “Are you sure? It could be something serious.” Bree continues in an unsteady voice. “I could have blue nose disease?”
This time, both girls explode into fresh howls of glee at her theatrics.
Bree spots me at the door and winks conspiratorially at me over their heads before launching into an overly dramatic scene. “Please help me. Call your father and tell him I need a warm cloth and hot water. A bath. That’s what I need, then I’ll feel better.”
“I think you need to go to the hospital,” Hettie says seriously. “What if you’re really sick and we never get to Disney World?”
“Now you’re being silly, Hettie. Bree only needs this.” Havana walks up to Bree and plonks pink paint on her nose. “All better. You’re pink again. No blue nose disease and you look pretty again. Now she can talk Daddy into taking us to see all the Disney princesses.”
“The princesses live here, not Disney World.” She kisses my daughters on their heads.
I lean against the door frame, warmth blooming in my chest as I take in the laughter and the messy chaos.
Bree does that.
She’s brought laughter into my home. And at first. I never wanted it. Now, every magical moment she gives them is all I live for.
“I think you’ve painted Bree enough. She deserves that hot bath. Don’t you agree, my princesses?” I say, walking into the chaos. Tentative so to avoid the mess—the artwork on the floor.
“Dad,” the girls groan, together.
“Did I hear someone saying they wanted to go to Disney World?” I say, holding my ear.
Hettie and Havana shriek together.
Bree smiles. “Now you’ve said it, they’ll never forget it.”
“We’ll pick up some brochures later.”
The girls scream again.
Bree laughs as she picks up the paintbrushes from the wooden floor. “I’ll take the girls and give them their bath. Hopefully, the warm water will calm them.”
Chapter 4
Bast
It’s Saturday and we’re strolling leisurely through the lush grounds of the zoo. My daughters each clutching one of Bree’s hands tightly after a morning of seeing the animals. I should be aggrieved that they are not holding my hands, but I love how they have taken to her since losing their mother. I’m also too concerned because I still haven’t mentioned the function this evening to Bree.
I smile at Hettie as she skips along, humming a tune while swinging their linked arms joyfully. Havana marches with purpose, deep in discussion with Bree about which animal is the absolute cutest.
My chest warms as I watch the easy affection between them. Bree dotes on the girls, always finding time for games, cuddles, and listening to their never-ending streams of questions, with the same amount of patience.
And they adore her in return. Hettie gravitates toward Bree’s sunny energy and intelligence, where Havana loves Bree’s humor.
