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“You okay?” I check, opening the door a little wider so she can see me.
“Where’s Mama?” she asks, looking around in confusion.
“She’s in the shower. She’ll be out soon. You want to cook breakfast with me?” Mel’s asked Gabby the same question before, so I think it’s safe to assume she’ll be alright if I bring Gabby into the kitchen with me.
“Okay.” Gabby beams, her sleepy energy melting away in an instant. And she crawls off the bed with an adorable amount of effort. She’s careful enough, I consider helping her, but I don’t want to impinge on her independence either.
Her tiny feet touch the ground before I can make a move toward her, and she turns to skip toward me, balancing on the balls of her feet. A minute later, her hand wraps around my pinky, and she looks up at me as if to say, Okay, I’m ready for the day.
My chest squeezes, and I’m defenseless against it as Mel’s little girl wiggles her way into my heart.
“You ever cooked a skillet before?” I ask, walking slowly so she can toddle beside me.
“What’s a skiddit?” she asks, answering my question with one of her own.
Trying not to laugh, I bend to grasp her beneath the armpits, and I deposit her on the counter within reach of me but not too close to the stove. She turns her attention to the pans waiting for me, and seems content to watch as I turn the heat back up and grill the vegetables in butter.
“We fry some veggies and potatoes, then put a couple eggs on top and smother them with cheese,” I explain. Hopefully, Gabby’s not a picky child. I kind of threw a bit of everything in.
“I like cheese!” she says enthusiastically, her heels thumping against the cabinets in her excitement.
Mel’s daughter is adorable. I can’t get past how happy she is. How curious and brave—even when she’s scared. When Mel was knocked unconscious, and I needed Gabby to stay close and quiet so we could slip past Vinny’s men outside New Haven, this tiny little girl blew my mind.
And caring for her while Mel was in the hospital? Normally, I keep my distance from kids. Sure, Pyotr and Silvia have two very cute children, but I don’t feel the need to interact with them.
Gabby, on the other hand? I feel drawn toward her. I have this urge to protect and connect with her. And I don’t know if that has something to do with my unusual connection with Mel or if her girl is just special. But I genuinely like spending time with her.
“Do you like peppers?” I ask, plucking a yellow bell pepper from the pan now that it has a nice char to it.
Gabby’s eyes widen, growing round with curiosity. And she holds out her hands to accept the small bite. She chews thoughtfully, then gives a happy “Mmm” as her round cheeks lift.
I’ll take that as a yes.
When the vegetables are cooked and the potatoes are nearing crispy, I put them on the back burners and turn my attention to the eggs. Gabby helps, pulling them individually from the carton so I can crack them into the frying pan.
As a last step, I serve up three plates, and Gabby sprinkles on a generous helping of shredded cheese. Then, I slip them into the oven to melt the cheese while Mel’s finishing her morning ritual.
“It smells amazing,” she says, striding into the main room of my condo a few minutes later.
“We’re having skiddits!” Gabby says excitedly, and I help her off the counter as she tries to scoot forward so she can go to her mom.
“Skiddits?” Mel says, her eyes flashing to mine in silent question. But when Gabby reaches her, Mel scoops her daughter up off the floor and onto her hip. “I love skiddits, don’t I, Gleb?”
I chuckle. “I sure hope so.”
Using a hot towel, I pull two plates from the oven and deposit them on the kitchen table. Then I go back for my own. “Coffee’s done brewing,” I say, and when I turn, I find Mel far closer than I had anticipated.
I shift my hand to avoid burning her with the plate, and my heart skips a beat as she lightly grasps my forearm and rises onto her toes to kiss my cheek.
She smells freshly showered, her damp hair rich with the sweet scent of her shampoo, and her skin glows with rich, healthy color. Her thick lashes brush the tops of her cheeks when she smiles shyly. God, she’s so damn beautiful it constantly hits me unexpectedly.
The moment between us is fleeting as she releases my arm and slips past me. I keep walking to the table and set down my plate next to my mug of black coffee before I glance back to watch her prepare her own.
We sit down together, Mel bringing Gabby onto her lap so the little girl is tall enough to see over the table. I’ll need to remember to get her a highchair—or booster seat. I’m not really sure which would be appropriate for a girl her age.
“I should have thought to get her something to make sitting at the table easier. Sorry.”
“Oh no, we’re fine, Gleb,” Mel assures me.
