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Twenty Five

Dean

It’s Friday afternoon, and I have Aspen sitting on the bathroom counter while I try to make her hair look borderline presentable.

Blair has spent almost every evening with us this week. Dinner, movies, helping Aspen with whatever craft has taken over the dining table. But every night, she’s gone home before morning.

Every time she leaves, I want to ask her to stay.

Every time, I remember that we agreed to take things slowly where Aspen is concerned.

Aspen watches me struggle with the hair tie through the mirror.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, Pen?” I answer, still concentrating on her ponytail.

“Is Blair your girlfriend?” she asks.

Jesus Christ.

My hands freeze halfway through tying her hair.

“Where did that come from?”

Aspen shrugs like she hasn’t just thrown a grenade into the bathroom. “Aunt G said you like her.”

“Of course she did,” I mutter.

“What?” Aspen asks, twisting around to look at me.

“Nothing.” I clear my throat and finish securing her ponytail. Apparently, we’re having this conversation. “Blair and I haven’t talked about whether she’s my girlfriend yet.”

Aspen pinches her brows together. “But you like her?”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah, baby girl.”

“A lot?” she presses.

“A lot,” I admit.

“Does she like you?”

“I hope so.”

Aspen’s frown deepens. “You don’t know?”

“I’m pretty sure,” I assure her with a quiet laugh.

“You should ask her,” she says seriously.

“I probably should.”

Aspen grows quiet, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.

“Is she going to come over lots?” she asks. “Like she did this week?”

“I hope she does,” I tell her. “But Blair and I are still figuring things out.”