7

“You’re in trouble, Daddy.” Aubree, nestled firmly between Patrick and Daylin, scooted closer to the table.

“Why’s that?”

“Look!” She tapped her pencil over the page of the puzzle magazine Daylin had given her that evening as they waited for the movie to begin. “I found the last hidden picture. Now you have to buy me an ice cream.”

“Isn’t it a little cold for ice cream?”

“Nana says it’s never too cold for ice cream.” Aubree leaned over, whispered in Daylin’s ear. “Sometimes she brings me chocolate chip when she comes for school, and we eat it after math work. I don’t much care for math, but chocolate chip is my favorite.”

Daylin returned the whisper, adding a wink. “Mine, too.”

“Really?” Aubree’s eyes danced over a cherubic smile as she tugged on Patrick’s shirtsleeve. “Daddy, can we go to Dusty’s Diner after the movie? Miss Vera said she’d give me a piece of pie a la mode. What’s a la mode, Daddy?”

“It means pie with ice cream.”

“Yum…Miss Vera’s very nice and ice cream is good. Can we go?”

“Not tonight. It will be late.”

“Sunday, then? After church?”

“Let’s see…” Patrick scratched the shadow of beard along his jaw and then stretched his arm toward her. “Twist my arm, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Aw, Daddy, that’s silly.” But Aubree gave it a squeeze anyway while Patrick mimed a severe bout of pain. The child giggled and let go. “Come on, Daddy, please, please, please?”

“You got me good.” Patrick made a production out of rubbing his assaulted bicep. “I suppose Sunday after church would work for a trip to the diner. Vera did promise you a slice of pie.”

“You have to come, too, Daylin.” Aubree bounced in the seat, her legs swinging. “Daddy can pick you up, and we’ll all go to church together. You can see me sing in the children’s choir. We’re doing a special song this Sunday, and I get to wear a pretty dress. It’s blue and velvet and Daddy helped me choose it. He says it’s perfect for someone who sings like an angel—me.”

“Is that so?” Daylin tweaked Aubree’s nose. “Well, your Daddy knows best.”

“Yep.” Aubree’s head bobbed up and down. “He knows everything.”

“In that case, I’m sure you sing like an angel, and I’ll bet the dress is pretty.” Daylin’s laughter tumbled. “I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Then you’ll come?”

The laughter faded with the second mention of church. “I…I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t like singing?”

“I love singing. It’s not that.”

“What, then?”

“Your daddy and I should discuss it first, OK? He might have other plans.”

“’Kay.” She swiped a hand across her mouth, brushing remnants of pizza crust crumbs from her lips. “Can I have some popcorn, Daddy?”

He offered her the bag, and Aubree dipped her hand for a fistful of fluffy kernels.

“Chew carefully. Here’s your juice.”

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the movie. Patrick took the puzzle book from Aubree, closed it, and set it beneath the seat. He slipped his arms around the child, and as she snuggled into his lap, his shoulder brushed Daylin’s. The contact was a warm jolt of electricity to her, and she wondered if he felt the same.

“Moose Tracks,” Patrick murmured as his aftershave kissed her nose.

“What?”

“Moose Tracks.” His fingers searched for hers, twined gently. “It’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. And there’s nothing to discuss…I’d love for you to join us at church Sunday.”

Patrick’s easy touch, the inviting words, sent Daylin’s pulse skittering. She barely heard the movie’s soundtrack as opening credits began to scroll across the screen.

She cleared her throat. Sitting in the fellowship hall to enjoy a movie was one thing; partaking in a Sunday service, ensconced in the sanctuary itself, was something altogether different…terrifying. She’d been gone for so long, she felt as if there were no turning back. A sense of unworthiness settled as Daylin struggled to speak. “What time is the service?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“I see.” She attempted to focus on the screen, failed miserably. The women had been kind to her, Frannie in particular who’d been preparing the snack table when they’d arrived, sectioning pizzas onto paper plates and pouring cups of sweet tea and lemonade. Apparently, it was the duty of the ladies’ group to oversee movie night. Daylin had stopped to chat, and Frannie had introduced her to several friends. All had smiled and chattered about this and that, doing their best to make Daylin feel welcome. And she did…at least as far as movie night went. But Sunday service, well…

“I was thinking we could spend some time with Aubree, have dessert first—the pie and ice cream—and then head out to an early dinner…alone.” Patrick’s suggestion hung in the air between them. “What do you think?”

“I like the ice cream part, and the dinner part, too. But I’m not so sure about attending church.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why the hesitation?”

“It’s been so long.” Daylin turned her palm up in an attempt to clarify her words. “I don’t really belong there. I’d feel....”

“There’s no need to feel anything but welcome, Daylin. No one keeps tabs on the past…or a record of how many Sundays you’ve stayed away. All that matters is here…now. Of course, you belong. We all belong.”

“You make it sound like a party.”

“Not a party, exactly, but certainly a celebration.”

“It’s hard to resist when you put it that way.”

“Good. Then your answer is yes?”

“How will you manage dinner with me—us—alone…with Aubree along?”

“Mom will watch her for the evening. She’s already offered.”

“Then Yenta is working her magic again, right?”

“Yes, but this time I’m all in. I’m kind of enjoying how the yenta operates this go ’round.” He nodded to cement the statement. “How about you?”

Daylin waited for the nerves to zing into full swing, and for the little voice to issue its caution. Neither came. She simply felt…excited. A full day together with Patrick…the very idea tasted better than chocolate. Daylin smiled as she leaned against the seat back, allowing her fingers to relax in his. “I think church then dinner with you sounds just lovely.”

****

“Sit with me.” Patrick said as they approached a trio of porch swings along the riverfront. “It’s not too cold, is it?”

“No, not at all.” Daylin settled into the seat and smoothed her skirt, crossing her legs and swinging one leather boot-clad foot over the other. “We’re on the downhill slide of January and temperatures are holding steady in the sixties, even with the sun so low in the sky. Who would have thought?”

“Don’t let the lamb fool you. Once the sun dips below the horizon a chill will set in.” He slipped into the swing beside her, gave it a gentle push. “But, for now…”

“Are the winters hard on Aubree?” The breeze lifted Daylin’s hair as fingers of sunlight turned strands to burnished copper.

“It depends on what kind of viruses are floating around at the time. She’s more susceptible to them than the average kid, and some are downright nasty.”

“Is that why she’d homeschooled now…because of an illness?”

“Yes. She was pretty sick last month. We nearly missed Christmas. But she’s fine now—as fine as possible. The homeschooling is a temporary thing. If all goes well, she’ll be back in the classroom before we run the marathon.”

“Half-marathon—and I’ll most likely walk it.”

“Half-marathon, then, but I’m betting you’ll run it. You did great yesterday at the group run. You’re making great strides—no pun intended.”

“I have you to thank. You’re a taskmaster. I’ve even cleaned off my treadmill at home, put the clothes tossed over it away. My closet went into shock.”

“Nice imagery. I think you should be a writer at Home Spice instead of the Senior Editor.”

“Well, editors do dabble in some writing.”

“True. By the way, Aubree went crazy over the batch of puzzle magazines you brought her Saturday.”

“I’m glad. She liked the first magazine I gave her so much, I thought she might devour some more.”

“And devour them, she is. You’ll have to come keep her company with them. She’d like that.”

“I would, too. She’s sure a fireball of sweet…cute…smart.” Daylin gazed over the water. “I’m sure Sandra was all those things, as well. I’ll bet you miss her terribly.”

“I do—I did...” Patrick reached for her hand, his gaze softening. “I loved her, truly I did. But time has a way of weaving the memories into a quilt that looks lovely on a display stand but isn’t so functional in day-to-day life.”

“Who’s the writer now?” Daylin brushed a hand through her hair. “I don’t remember you together in high school.”

“We weren’t. That came later…after.” Back then, he’d only had eyes for Daylin. How could he tell her that now? “I had my eye on someone else those days.”

“Really? Who?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I…no, I don’t.”

“It was you, Daylin. Back then, I wanted to talk to you…to know you more. But you always seemed so…distracted, so disinterested.”

“I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of you…scared of getting too close. Getting close never seemed to work out for me…with guys.”

“I’m not just any guy, and we’re not awkward teenagers anymore.”

“I’m still scared.”

“I am, too.” Patrick grunted softly. “Family photos on the mantel…they’re frozen in time, never changing. But I’m not frozen in time. And it’s downright frightening to feel again…to want.”

“What is it that you want?”

“I’m not sure.” He stroked the pad of his thumb down the length of her jawline. “I suppose it depends on you.”

“How so?”

“I enjoy spending time with you, Daylin. I’d like to spend more. But I need to know…do you feel the same?”