Clocked Heart

Chapter 8- June

I stood before the mirror, my reflection staring back at me, as I took a deep breath. "It's just breakfast," I whispered to myself, though the mantra did little to soothe the flurry of nerves dancing in my chest. Here I was, about to step into the home of a man I barely knew, to share a meal with him and his daughter. The thought alone felt like a leap into the unknown.

One last glance in the mirror. A yellow sundress adorned with delicate flowers and a soft cardigan draped over my shoulders—my go-to outfit for a day. I grabbed my phone and keys, along with an orange juice from the fridge, and made my way to the front door.

The sky hung heavy with clouds, the promise of rain thick in the air. I took a deep breath, knocked on Graham's door, and waited. Footsteps approached, and the door swung open, revealing him leaning casually against the frame. "You made it," he said softly, his tone warm and inviting.

"Please, come in," he added, as I found myself momentarily speechless, simply staring. "Thanks," I managed, stepping inside and handing him the juice. Our fingers brushed lightly, a small, electric jolt of connection. The scent of pancakes wafted through the air, a comforting aroma that felt like a welcome hug.

"You didn't have to," Graham said, accepting the juice with a smile. "Sky loves orange juice."

The kitchen was a scene of cheerful chaos, Sky perched on the counter with flour dusting her cheeks. "We're almost done," Graham said beside me, his voice a soothing undercurrent to the bustling morning. "You really came," Sky said, her eyes lighting up with a smile that could brighten the gloomiest of days.

"Thank you for having me," I replied, returning her smile. "You can sit down; I'll clean up this mess," Graham offered, gesturing to the floury countertops. "I can help," I insisted, rolling up my sleeves. It felt natural, stepping into this domestic dance, even as my heart raced with the newness of it all.

Graham washed Sky's hands while I tidied the counter, and our movements were easy and synchronized. "Love, can you take the pancakes to the dining table?" he asked Sky, handing her the plate. He turned to me with a question, "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee please," I answered, grateful for his question's small anchor of normalcy. The breakfast table was set, and we sat down together, a small circle of warmth against the dreary day outside. Sky, seated across from me, was a picture of curiosity and shyness, her eyes wide as she sipped her juice.

"How old is she?" I asked, wanting to know more about this little girl who seemed to tenderly hold her father's heart.

"She'll be eight soon," Graham said, his eyes softening as he looked at Sky.

"That's wonderful," I replied, cutting into my pancakes, the warmth of the morning making the dining room feel cozy. Sky's shy voice broke the comfortable silence. "How do you do your hair like that?" she asked, her curiosity endearing.

"I braid it," I explained, taking another bite, enjoying how natural the conversation felt. "It looks lovely," she said, her voice small but sincere, and the compliment made my heart swell.

"Thank you. I can braid yours beautifully too, if you'd like," I offered, and her eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?" she asked, her voice brimming with hope. "Of course," I assured her, smiling at her innocence.

"Daddy, did you hear that? She said she'd braid my hair!" Sky exclaimed, turning to Graham with delight. "I did, honey," he replied, smiling down at her. There was a warmth in his eyes, a tenderness that spoke of countless moments shared and cherished. As we continued our breakfast, Sky suddenly looked up at me with a thoughtful expression. "Do you like any singers?" Sky asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.