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Grandpa Sparks used to tease me about saying words likecuteandadorable,but, man, there is no other way to describe what’s happening at my feet with my dog and the cutest little girl I’ve ever seen.
Hope and I laugh, and she leans a little closer. “Were you still worried about Uncle Rad nipping her?”
The concern in her voice hits me right in my vulnerability. “Uh. Yeah. She was bleeding and crying when you left.”
“She was tired, and it was a tiny scrape that bled a tiny bit, looked red for a day, then disappeared.” Hope sets a hand on my shoulder, shooting more waves of electricity down my arm than a live wire. “Kids get hurt, Seb. They get tired. They cry and howl. Then they stop. That’s part of being a kid. Her crying wasn’t your fault, and that car wasn’t going to hit her. It was nowhere near, and I knew she was there. Just in case you were still worried about that too.”
“I was. Thanks. You’re not mad?”
She doesn’t sound mad, but that doesn’t make sense at all. I messed up. Her kid got hurt. Sheshouldbe mad.
But Hope shakes her head, and smiles. I exhale deeper than I have in days, but then her eyes get this twinkling look they always do when she’s about to tease me for something.
“But if I tell you I am, will you give me another one of those pumpkin bars to convince me not to be? I’ve been craving them all week.” She shifts closer to me, smelling of cinnamon again.
“I have some in the front.” I’ve never been so grateful that I decided to bring a fresh batch of cookies and bars in today.
“Really?” Her eyes widen, growing deeper blue as she picks up her box.
“Yeah, I’ve got a whole selection of goodies.” I take the box from her, ready to take it and Hope up front, but Charly’s giggle stops me. “Will she be okay here for a minute?”
Hope scans the entire backroom, and as she does, I see the ordered chaos through her eyes. I’ve got sharp tools, spools of wire and cables that weigh as much or more than Charly, and boxes of nails and screws.
“Don’t answer that,” I tell Hope, then with Hope’s box under my arm, I put Uncle Rad’s leash on her and attach it to my belt. “We’ll all go. Mrs. C. is up there. We can show Charly her little animal things.” I pause for a second, then take a leap of faith and hold out my hand for Charly. “Come on, Charly. I’ve got something to show you.”
My heart does the same thing it did the first time Charly took my hand, and I wonder if that will always happen. If I’ll have a surge of happiness course through me every time she wants to hold my hand. Because if I feel that when this little girl I barely know takes my hand, what would it be like with a kid of my own? My heart might be in danger of exploding.
And I think I might be okay with that. Maybe it would be enough to offset all the worry that goes along with being a parent.
The smile that appears on Hope’s face sends a different kind of joy through my body. I’ve never understood what people meant when they talked about different kinds of love, but I think I might have an idea now. I love Mom and Stella, so I thought that’s what all love felt like. But what I’m feeling for Hope is totally different.
“You’re leash-training?” she asks as we walk to the front.
“Yeah. I want to take her to job sites and be sure she’ll stay close.” Once I made it through the puppy training book Carson made me buy, I found another one.
Uncle Rad was supposed to help me win over Hope, but I’m the one who’s been won over by Uncle Rad. I’m learning a lot about raising a puppy, but not much about what it’s like to raise a kid. Although I did see leashes for kids when I was researching dog leashes. After my experience with Charly darting into the street, I think I might get one of those for Hope for Christmas.
Mrs. C. is at the front desk knitting—or whatever it’s called—when I introduce Hope and Charly.
“I thought Charly might like to see your animals, like the flying squirrel,” I tell her while setting the box on the floor by the register. “Are you working on another one?”
“No, these are for the Christmas market.” Mrs. C. holds up her project, which looks like a bright red beanie with…
“Are those moose antlers?”
Mrs. C. nods enthusiastically and holds up a finished beanie. “I fashioned some of your wire into the antler shape I want, then I made a form with this plush fabric and sewed the wire inside so the antlers will keep their shape. Then I stuff the form full of cotton, sew it shut, stitch them onto the beanie, and there’s your moose rack! Here, try it.”
“They’re so cute!” Hope takes the finished beanie from her and puts it on.
She has giant antlers sticking from the sides of her head, and I have never seen anything so adorable. (That’s right. I said adorable. I don’t care if Grandpa Sparks thinks it makes me sound girly).
“Mama look si-we,” Charly giggles.
Uncle Rad yips her agreement.
“Now I just have to decide what to embroider on the front: Moosy Christmas or Merry Moosemas.” Mrs. C. comes around the counter, carrying a smaller beanie, and asks Charly, “Do you want some antlers too?”
Charly nods, and Mrs. C. helps her put on the hat.
