Chapter Nine

Conrad

I slept far better than I thought I would, my shoulders feeling lighter than they’d been in a long time. Here we were in a predicament that, from the outside, probably looked horrible, and yet it felt so right.

On top of all that, there was a peacefulness and quiet unlike anything I’d ever experienced in the city. There were no cars, sirens, people not realizing they were being too loud. Even the animals seemed to get the memo that it was time to be quiet. I loved it.

When I opened my eyes, Natalie wasn’t there. She usually waited for me to come get her in the morning. It wasn’t a rule or anything. She just did it.

I might have been worried that she’d wandered off to find her magical dancing bear if it weren’t for her giggles floating into the room. I got up, half made the bed, and went out to find her sitting at the counter, talking to Bert as he cooked French toast.

“Morning,” I said, giving her a half wave, my voice raspy with sleep.

“Daddy, we’re cooking.” She climbed off her chair and ran to me for a morning hug. “Mr. Bert let me crack the eggs, and I didn’t even get a lot of shells in them.”

It was noted she didn’t say “no shells.”

“Well done. I can’t wait to try it.” I looked at Bert to get a read on whether or not he was okay with her helping.

He was smiling away, flipping the egg-soaked bread.

“Let Daddy go wash up, and I’ll be out to help.”

In the bathroom, I splashed water on my face to wake up a little. I looked far better than I did the night before. I’d caught my image in the mirror as I was getting ready for bed and I didn’t even recognize myself. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do.

Why was I feeling it was so much more than the sleep. Natalie was happy, Bert was welcoming, and, for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was letting my sweet girl down.

Refreshed and ready to start my day, I joined them in the kitchen. Natalie was sprinkling something onto the French toast, under the guidance of Bert.

“Do you think that’s enough?” she asked, her expression serious. She wasn’t taking her responsibilities lightly.

“I think it’s perfect,” Bert said. “See why we put the butter on first?”

She nodded up and down. “It’s like syrup now.”

“That’s right, the cinnamon sugar blends with the butter and makes it extra delicious.”

They were so sweet with each other. Bert let her do small tasks that would feel so big to a seven-year-old, like carrying the plates to the table. He was so good with her, and not once did I feel like she was imposing on him.

“What do you think, Daddy?” She watched as I took my first bite.

“I think this might be the best French toast I’ve ever eaten.” I popped another piece into my mouth.

“That’s because Mr. Bert has a secret recipe.” Natalie beamed with pride.

“Oh? Well, maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll tell me what it is.”

“He doesn’t have to.” She tapped her head. “I have it right up here!”

I wasn’t sure what was secret about eggs, vanilla, and milk on bread, but whatever he added, this was exceptional.

“It’s not a secret from you, Conrad,” Bert said gently. “We don’t keep secrets from our parents, right, Natalie?”

“I know,” she said. “He did tell me that.”

“It’s a good rule.” And one we had at home as well.

“You’d be a good papa.” She wasn’t even looking at him, still devouring her food. To her, it was a case of not keeping inside thoughts inside, but that didn’t make it appropriate.

I nearly choked, her words unexpected. That was not the kind of thing you told a near stranger, especially not one we were imposing on in this way.

“Natalie.” I was firm but not harsh. She didn’t know better. That wouldn’t change how it made him feel, but still… “That’s not table talk.”

“But he would.” She half shrugged. “He would be such a good papa.” Then she turned to him and doubled down. “Why don’t you have kids, Mr. Bert?”

Bert’s eyes widened, and he looked to me for help.

“Natalie, that’s not polite,” I said firmly.

She looked down at her plate and grabbed the last piece of French toast. She was embarrassed, and I felt bad. I rode such a fine line being a parent.

“It’s okay.” Bert placed his hand on mine and then pulled it right back, almost as if he hadn’t realized he had done it. “Natalie, the reason I don’t have any kids is because I don’t have a ma—a husband. While some daddies are really, really good at being daddies all by themselves, I’ve always wanted someone by my side.”

“Oh.” She wiped her butter-coated finger on her napkin. “Daddy was like that too. He had Father.” She put her fork down.

“How about you wash all the cinnamon and butter off your face and get dressed?” I suggested.

“Then we can color?” She directed her question to Bert.

“Yes, then we can color.” He was going above and beyond any host expectations, even if we’d rented the room, which we hadn’t. He was doing this simply to be nice.

She hopped out of her seat and went to the bathroom to clean up.

“I’m sorry about that. She’s not so great with the filter.” Or, more accurately, she didn’t have one.

“Oh, don’t be sorry. I didn’t mind. Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we plan. I’ve always wanted to be a dad, but it just hadn’t work out that way so far. Hearing her say she thinks I’d be good at it—that was nice.” He stood up with his plate. “Do you want some more French toast?”

“No thank you. It was delicious though.”

He reached for my dirty dish.

“Remember the rule. You cooked—”

“I know, I know. You do the dishes,” Bert said with a grin. “I’m at least going to clear the table.”

He did that while I filled the sink.

Natalie came back out with her coloring things and settled at the coffee table near the fireplace to get to work.

“Listen, I need to go to town to get some parts for the other cabin. Do you want to come?” he asked.

“The roads?” I had assumed we were good and trapped.

“They aren’t great, but I’ve got chains for my tires. And rumor has it there’s a little Christmas fair going on in the village.”

“Can we go, Daddy? Can we?” Natalie’s voice carried from the other room.

I hadn’t even realized she’d been listening, although I should have.

“Yeah, we can go.” If Bert thought it was safe, it would be. Of that, I was sure.

My car wouldn’t have made it in the snow we’d gotten, but Bert piled us into his truck and navigated the hill as if it were a sunny summer day. I quickly discovered why I hadn’t seen the town before—it was off on a little side road a couple of miles from where we were staying.

The town was adorable, like something out of a greeting card. The snow didn’t seem to be keeping anyone away. The shops were open, the sidewalks were cleared, and people were going from store to store, many of them while singing. Each shop appeared to have something special set up.

Natalie’s favorite part was the town passport. It was basically a little note card, and each shop you visited gave you a sticker. If you got all the stickers, you earned a bookmark at the last stop. From her excitement, you would have thought that bookmark was made of gold.

I went through the shops with her while Bert got his parts. He met up with us halfway through our quest, insisting on buying us hot cocoa from a street vendor. Natalie ordered one topped with cookie crumbs. I didn’t see how that could be good, but she drank it all down—at least the parts she wasn’t wearing as a hot chocolate mustache.

It was a lovely outing, but, once again, guilt started to creep in. I also found myself wanting to reach for Bert’s hand more than once, to hold it. To have him there as more than just the guy letting us stay in his house—but as something more.