“That’s right, you’re going to see Grandma today. But only if you eat your cereal and banana.”
She carefully picked up one of the cereal O’s, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger, then lifted her hand to her mouth.
Braden made himself another cup of coffee while Saige picked at her breakfast, one O at a time. Not that he was surprised. Just like every other female he’d ever known, she did everything on her own schedule.
“Try some of the banana,” he suggested.
His little girl reached for a chunk of the fruit. “Na-na.”
“That’s right, sweetie. Ba-na-na. Yummy.”
She shoved the fruit in her mouth.
“Good girl.”
She smiled, showing off a row of tiny white teeth, and love—sweet and pure—flooded through him. Life as a single parent was so much more difficult than he’d anticipated, and yet, it only ever took one precious smile from Saige to make him forget all of the hard stuff. He absolutely lived for his little girl’s smiles—certain proof that he wasn’t a total screw-up in the dad department and tentative hope that maybe her childhood hadn’t been completely ruined by the loss of her mother.
He sipped his coffee as Saige reached for another piece of banana. This time, she held the fruit out to him, offering to share. He lowered his head to take the banana from her fingers. Fifteen months earlier, Braden would never have imagined allowing himself to be fed like a baby bird. But fifteen months earlier, he didn’t have the miracle that was his daughter.
He hadn’t known it was possible to love someone so instantly and completely, until that first moment when his baby girl was put into his arms.
I want a better life for her than I could give her on my own—a real home with two parents who will both love her as much as I do.
It didn’t seem too much to ask, but they’d let Lindsay down. And he couldn’t help but worry that Saige would one day realize they’d let her down, too.
For now, she was an incredibly happy child, seemingly unaffected by her motherless status. Still, it wasn’t quite the family that Lindsay had envisioned for her baby girl when she’d signed the adoption papers—or that Braden wanted for Saige, either.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised his daughter now. “Daddy will always be here for you, I promise.”
“Da-da.” Saige’s smile didn’t just curve her lips, it shone in her eyes and filled his whole heart.
“That’s right—it’s you and me kid.”
“Ga-ma?”
“Yes, we’ve got Grandma and Grandpa in our corner, too. And lots of aunts, uncles and cousins.”
“Na-na?”
He smiled. “Yeah, some of them are bananas, but we don’t hold that against them.”
She stretched out her arms, her hands splayed wide open. “Aw dun.”
“Good girl.” He moistened a washcloth under the tap to wipe her hands and face, then removed the tray from her high chair and unbuckled the safety belt around her waist.
As soon as the clip was unfastened, she threw herself at him. He caught her against his chest as her little arms wrapped around his neck, but he felt the squeeze deep inside his heart.
“Ready to go to Grandma’s now?”
When Saige nodded enthusiastically, he slung her diaper bag over his shoulder, then picked up his briefcase and headed toward the door. His hand was on the knob when the phone rang. He was already fifteen minutes late leaving for work, but he took three steps back to check the display, and immediately recognized his parents’ home number. Crap.
He dropped his briefcase and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Mom. We’re just on our way out the door.”
“Then it’s lucky I caught you,” Ellen said. “I chipped a tooth on my granola and I’m on my way to the dentist.”
“Ouch,” he said sympathetically, even as he mentally began juggling his morning plans to accommodate taking Saige into the office with him.
“I’m so sorry to cancel at the last minute,” she said.
“Don’t be silly, Mom. Of course you have to have your tooth looked at, and Saige is always happy to hang out at my office.”
“You can’t take her to the office,” his mother protested.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Tuesday,” she pointed out.
“And every Tuesday, I meet with Nathan and Andrew,” he reminded her.
“Tuesday at ten o’clock is Baby Talk at the library.”
“Right—Baby Talk,” he said, as if he’d remembered. As if he had any intention of blowing off a business meeting to take his fifteen-month-old daughter to the library instead.
“Saige loves Baby Talk,” his mother told him.
“I’m sure she does,” he acknowledged. “But songs and stories at the library aren’t really my thing.”
“Maybe not, but they’re Saige’s thing,” Ellen retorted. “And you’re her father, and it’s not going to hurt you to take an hour out of your schedule so that she doesn’t have to miss it this week.”
“I have meetings all morning.”
“Meetings with your cousins,” she noted, “both fathers themselves who wouldn’t hesitate to reschedule if their kids needed them.”
Which he couldn’t deny was true. “But...Baby Talk?”
“Yes,” his mother said firmly, even as Saige began singing “wound an’ wound”—her version of the chorus from the “Wheels on the Bus” song that she’d apparently learned in the library group. “Miss MacKinnon—the librarian—will steer you in the right direction.”
He sighed. “Okay, I’ll let Nate and Andrew know that I have to reschedule.”
“Your daughter appreciates it,” Ellen said.
He looked at the little girl still propped on his hip, and she looked back at him, her big brown eyes sparkling as she continued to sing softly.
She truly was the light of his life, and his mother knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.
“Well, Saige, I guess today is the day that Daddy discovers what Baby Talk is all about.”
His daughter smiled and clapped her hands together.
* * *
The main branch of the Charisma Public Library was located downtown, across from the Bean There Café and only a short walk from the hospital and the courthouse. It was a three-story building of stone and glass with a large open foyer filled with natural light and tall, potted plants. The information desk was a circular area in the center, designed to be accessible to patrons from all sides.
Cassandra MacKinnon sat at that desk, scanning the monthly calendar to confirm the schedule of upcoming events. The library wasn’t just a warehouse of books waiting to be borrowed—it was a hub of social activity. She nodded to Luisa Todd and Ginny Stafford, who came in together with bulky knitting bags in hand. The two older women—friends since childhood—had started the Knit & Purl group and were always the first to arrive on Tuesday mornings.
Ginny stopped at the desk and took a gift bag out of her tote. “Will you be visiting with Irene this week?” she asked Cassie, referring to the former head librarian who now lived at Serenity Gardens, a seniors’ residence in town.