Trip to Your Heart - A Hockey Fanfiction

Daddy Doesn't Like Asparagus

Robert's Point of View

"Just tell me what you want me to do," Stella said.

A million answers flashed through my mind.

I want you to kiss me.

I want you to tell me you love me.

I want you to stay.

"You're in charge of the pasta and the sauces."

"What about me?" Lottie asked, bouncing up and down and tugging on my shirt.

"Do you want to make green beans?" I asked her with a smile.

"Yeah!" She released me and dashed out of the room.

"Where'd she go?" Stella asked, confused by Lottie's sudden exit.

"She went downstairs to get the green beans from the freezer," I explained.

"Oh," she nodded. I slid my fingers from hers and wrapped my arms around her waist. Stella's hands were pressed against my chest and her mismatched eyes met mine. I searched her gaze, looking for a sign that she wanted to stay, that when she told me she loved me, it was real. Stella tipped her head back. Her eyes closed and her lips parted. My body responded in kind and as I began to close the distance between us, Lottie walked in with a very noisy bag of frozen green beans and said, "Are we making dinner?"

Stella gave me a smile and extricated herself from my embrace, "Yes, we are."

"Good, I'm hungry," Lottie set the bag on the counter and started dragging a chair to the microwave so she could reach it. I sighed to myself and shook my head, running my fingers through my hair. I looked over at Stella.  She had her head down, but I could still see her smiling as she worked with the pasta and sauces I had set out before she got here. I turned back to the chicken and we worked together as a family to get dinner on the table.

I asked Lottie to set the table as Stella and I wrapped up the food.  Lottie grabbed the plates from the lower cabinets where I kept them so both of us could reach them.

We sat down and I smiled at my girls. Lottie sat across from me like she usually did, her legs hanging off the side of the chair and her feet resting on my knees because my long legs were stretched out under the table. Stella sat at the end of the table between the two of us.

"This is really good," Stella complimented my chicken.

"Thank you, the pasta is perfect," I replied.

She laughed. God, I loved the sound of her laugh. "It's just pasta, Bortz, anyone can make pasta."

"Not true, Beau can't make pasta for the life of him; it burns and sticks to the bottom of the pot. Your pasta is phenomenal, though, and nothing like Sunshine's," I replied.

"Uncle Beau made pasta for me one time," Lottie said, "It was icky so he got a pizza."

I nodded in Lottie's direction, "Case and point. If she thought it was icky, it was definitely icky. Lottie's not that picky when it comes to food."

"Oh, really?" Stella asked and Lottie nodded. "When I was little," Stella continued, "I was very picky. I only ate sandwiches with the crust cut off for eight years."