LITMIR.BIZ

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Mom.” He glanced at his mother, who looked about ready to collapse with exhaustion. But he saw the indulgent smiles she gave her only grandchild and knew Greta enjoyed every minute with energetic Annabelle. “For everything.”

      “Anytime.”

      He put the bread knife in the sink, then stood back while his mother bustled between stove and counter, assembling some kind of casserole. “How’s she doing?”

      “Okay.” Greta paused in her mixing. “I don’t think she quite understands that you’ve moved. To her, this has just been one long visit with Grandma.”

      “Eventually, I’m sure she’ll settle in. It’s been hard on her.” Daniel thought of all the changes his daughter had been through in the past year. He hoped this was the last one. He needed to give her some stability, a proper house, a yard, heck, a puppy. Every child deserved that, and thus far, he hadn’t done a very good job of delivering on any of the above. But here, in Winter Haven, he hoped he would find all of that. And he hoped he could make his career work here as well as he had in New York. Or at least work, period.

      That was the only option possible. If he didn’t, he’d have to take a job like the one he’d left—and that meant travel and long hours, two things a single father didn’t need. His daughter needed him here as much as possible. If he’d learned anything at all in the past year, it was that.

      His mother, sensing his thoughts, laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing fine, Daniel. She’ll be okay.”

      He sighed, watching Annabelle bound across the kitchen, her pink dress swirling around her like a cloud. She looked so innocent, so carefree. So happy. Something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Being here, with her indulgent grandmother, had been good for her. But still, he knew, there was a long road ahead of them. Whenever it was just him and Belle, things got tough again as both of them tried to dance around a subject neither wanted to tackle. And as he learned how to become a single dad to a girly daughter he barely understood. “I hope so.”

      “I know so.” Greta patted his shoulder again. “I’ve raised a couple kids. So I get to claim expert status.”

      He reached up and squeezed his mother’s hand. Greta had been a huge support over the past year. Flying up to New York and staying in those first difficult weeks while Daniel scrambled to bury his wife, figure out his life and figure out how he was going to raise Annabelle and keep his job. At first, he’d thought he could make it all work, but then the long hours and frequent trips his job as a newscaster demanded started to take their toll, and he realized it was time to make a change. The words Sarah had thrown at him, over and over again as their marriage disintegrated in the months before her death, finally took root.

      He might not have been able to make his marriage work, but he would make this fatherhood thing work. That meant taking a position with nine-to-five hours, one that didn’t leave Annabelle in day care from sunup to sundown, or leave her with the nanny while he jetted off to another country for an interview.

      Which was what had brought him to the last thing he wanted to do—produce “infotainment” shows that had about as much worth as frosting. His father was probably rolling over in his grave knowing Daniel was working for that show. Still, it was for his daughter. He kept that in mind with every step he took. With Greta’s guiding hand, he hoped the transition would be easy on Annabelle. And him.

      Beyond that—marrying again, having a life of his own—he couldn’t think. Later, he told himself. Later.

      “Annabelle, I think your father would like to try one of your cookies that we made today.” Greta glanced at Daniel.

      “Oh, yes, I would. Very much.” Thank goodness for his mother. He’d already forgotten they’d baked cookies.

      “Can I get two?” Annabelle asked, her hand hovering over the cooling treats. “One for me, and one for Daddy?”

      Greta nodded, and Annabelle scooped up two chocolate chip cookies. “Here you go, Daddy.” Annabelle held out a misshapen lump of cooked dough. “I made it all by myself.”

      “Looks delicious.” He bit into the cookie, making a big deal out of the first bite. Annabelle beamed, so proud of the dessert she’d shaped with her own hands.

      She wagged a finger at him. “You can only have one, Daddy, ‘cuz we gotta eat dinner.”

      He gave her a solemn nod. “Okay, kiddo.”

      Annabelle’s gaze dropped to the extra cookie in her hands. “I wish Mommy could have a cookie, too.”

      Her soft words broke Daniel’s heart. The loss of her mother had hit Annabelle hard, and every so often, that pain slipped into the simplest of moments. He searched for the right words to say, and once again, came up empty. How could he begin to fill that yawning hole in Annabelle’s heart when he was still trying to figure this out himself?

      “I don’t want my cookie anymore.” The little girl’s blue eyes filled with tears. The dessert tumbled from her hand onto the table.

      “I have an idea,” Greta said, bending down to her granddaughter’s level. “Why don’t we put this cookie next to your mommy’s picture? Then when she looks down on us from heaven, she can see that you made her one, too.”

      “Will that make her happy?”

      “I think so, sweetie.” She took Annabelle’s hand and they crossed to the long shelf that ran along the back wall of the kitchen. In the center, Annabelle’s favorite picture of her mother sat, smiling down at them. Greta had placed it there the first day he and Annabelle had arrived, telling Belle it was so her mommy could watch over her every day. That time, and this one, his mother had stepped in with just the right touch, the one Daniel was still struggling to find.

      Greta hoisted Belle into her arms, then let her put the cookie down just so. Then she hugged her tight, and when Belle’s little arms wrapped around Greta’s neck, Daniel’s resolve to get close to his daughter again doubled. Somehow, he would find a way back for them.

      Her mission accomplished, Annabelle ran off to play with her toys in the living room, leaving Daniel alone with his mother. Once she was sure Annabelle was out of earshot, Greta gestured toward the kitchen table. Daniel took a seat while his mother checked something simmering on the stove. “How’s your first week at the new job going?”

      “Well, it’s a trial run. They want to see what I can bring in for stories, and if they like what they see, I’ll get a permanent position on the show. I hate this limbo. I just want to settle down again and know that tomorrow will be just like today. Not just for me, but for Belle, too.”

      “You will,” Greta said. “You’re a great reporter. Just like your father.”

      There were days—more of them in the past year—when that comparison grated. His father had been a legendary reporter, with a Pulitzer Prize to prove it. Before that, Daniel’s grandfather had been a reporter, and probably in some distant caveman days, there was a Reynolds who had etched information onto a cave wall. “I was a great reporter, Mom. Then my life fell apart and I went from great to awful.” He thought of the awards that had once hung proudly over his desk, then began to collect dust, then finally seemed to mock him and he’d put them in the bottom of a drawer.

      “Nobody can blame you. You went through a terrible year—”

      “Ratings don’t care about personal problems, Mom. And once your ratings tank, so does your career.” How many times had his father drummed that into his head? It’s all about ratings, son. Do what it takes to stay at the top.

      His mother bit her lower lip, as if she was holding back what she truly wanted to say. “So, tell me, what stories are you working on now?”

      “I’ve got a couple who’ve been married sixty-three years and still go dancing together every Friday night, a dog who took care of a litter of kittens when the mother cat died.” He ticked off the subjects on his fingers.

      “Oh.

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