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You watched from the door, quiet as you could, hands wrapped around your mug as it warmed them. You’d used making another drink as an excuse to leave the room, giving them two minutes of uninterrupted time together just so you could see.
You should’ve known not to be worried, but you weren’t stupid. You knew all the horror stories about single moms and new boyfriends, all the things that made your heart clench and your back sweat from fear when you looked into your little girl’s eyes and thought of you putting her through anything for your own wants.
After all you hadn’t exactly got it right so far. Hadn’t picked well.
Until Sam.
The two of you had been dating for around a year, talking even longer than that. And he was perfect. Sweet and shy, yet so remarkably strong and resilient. You knew he’d had it rough even if he didn’t like talking about it. You knew it’d taken him a lot to be this gentle and kind.
And yet, you’d waited. Because you desperately wanted this to go well. You and your daughter were a package deal, and there was no changing that. But you wanted to keep Sam, desperately. So you’d waited.
And then your waiting had turned into him putting it off. You’d broached him meeting her about six months in and he’d tensed, asking what the rush was. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he didn’t want to confuse her (apparently he’d been reading up on the subject). And at first you’d agreed, but as the months marched on, you’d grown worried he didn’t want to do it at all. That the nights you stole together when you could get a babysitter or after she went down and he came over, gone before morning, were what he actually wanted.
Then he’d finally confessed the truth. He was just terrified to meet her. A gigantic Adonis of a man, brought entirely to his knees by a six-year-old.
‘What if she doesn’t like me?’
‘She will.’
‘I don’t exactly know a lot about kids,’ he admitted softly, ‘haven’t really been around them since I was one.’
‘But you were one?’ you’d countered. Sam snorted, in that way he always did when you touched on one of those things he kept buried deep inside him, ‘barely.’
‘She’s six, Sam. She’s not exactly hard to win over,’ you assured.
‘But what if she doesn’t like me?’
‘Can you buy ice cream?’ you asked. Sam gave you a ‘stop teasing me’ look but nodded. You smiled and kissed him quickly, ‘then you might be her favourite person of the week.’
‘The whole week huh?’
And she had.
Of course she had. Because it was Sam, and like everything he set his mind to, he took to it with absolute devotion. It had helped you’d gone to the park, bought her ice cream and the two of them were now sitting, heads together as he helped her build the Lego set he’d bought her (the one you’d mentioned and he’d remembered and bought her three damn months early). But she had liked him.
She’d asked for him to push her on the swings, giggling when she flew higher than you ever could push her. She shouted for him to watch her at the top of the slide. He’d been the one nervously watching her, semi ignoring you as she climbed the monkey bars like he could sprint across the park and catch her if she fell. Knowing him, he probably would have cleared the distance before she even hit the padded ground.
And that night when you’d tucked her into bed that night, after three stories, you’d asked if she had a good day. You hadn’t asked about him specifically and you weren’t going to lead her if she didn’t say anything.
‘Yeah,’ she yawned, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands still insisting she wasn’t tired.
‘What was your favourite bit honey?’
‘Sammy.’
And then she was out like a light and your smile had carried you all the way downstairs. Sam was in the kitchen cleaning up, wiping down the counters even though you’d explicitly told him not to worry about it.
‘You look happy,’ he commented as you met him by the sink, your arms wrapping around his neck as he dusted his wet ones on his jeans before locking them around you.
‘I am.’
‘Yeah?’ he asked quietly. You nodded.
‘She had a good day you know,’ you murmured.
‘Me too. She’s a great kid,’ he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face, a soft smile on his face, ‘just like her mom.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not her favourite,’ she said.
‘No?’ he chuckled softly.
‘Nah apparently it’s this guy…Sammy? Heard of him?’ you teased. Sam stilled, something soft yet pained on his features.
'You okay?’ you asked, your face falling, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you I was just-‘
‘I know,’ he said, squeezing your side, ‘just no one really calls me that anymore…it’s nice to hear it.’
‘I’m glad,’ you said, shifting and clearing your throat before you added ‘and if you want…you can hear it more often…’
‘I’d like that.’