Not the whole story—but a few pieces of information could help smooth the troubled waters in her mind.

“I went away before you were born. Before I knew you were coming. I don’t know if your mom knew how to find me. But I can tell you this. If I’d known about you sooner, I would have been part of your life from the beginning.”

She continued to watch him, as if measuring his sincerity. “What if you get tired of me?”

“That will never happen. We’re a team from now on. That’s a promise.”

After a moment, she emitted a tiny, shuddering sigh, and her taut posture relaxed a hair. “Could we see if my sweater is finished drying?”

“Sure.” Not much chance it was ready yet, but at least he’d managed to convince her the garment she’d worn since he met her was overdue for a washing. Prying her away from the community laundry room long enough to eat dinner—what little she’d downed—had taken all of his negotiating skills.

She slid out of her chair, hurried to the front door, and snatched up her jacket—reinforcing the message he’d already received.

The sweater was a vital link to her mom.

Its next trip to the laundry might have to be after Hannah was asleep—if he could convince her to stop wearing it to bed.

He joined her at the door, locked it behind them, and headed down the sidewalk, shortening his stride to match hers.

Once inside the laundry room, she made a beeline for the rotating dryer.

“It’s not done yet, honey.” He joined her and eyed the gauge. The cycle was winding down, but it wouldn’t be finished for several more minutes.

“Could we check? In case it dried faster than everything else?” She hopped from one foot to the other, her focus riveted on the machine.

“Yes—but don’t get your hopes up.”

He opened the door, and the rotation stopped. One sleeve of the sweater was visible among the other clothing items, and he reached in to feel it. “It’s still damp.”

“Can’t it finish drying at your apartment?” From the set of her jaw, she wasn’t leaving without her sweater.

“I don’t see why not.” This wasn’t a battle worth waging. He could always come back in fifteen minutes to collect the rest of the laundry.

After extricating the garment from the jumble of damp clothes, he draped it over his arm and pushed the door closed.

Hannah fingered the hem of the sweater. “It’s not too wet. Can I wear it home?”

“I think we should let it dry for a while first.” Moisture was already seeping through the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. “Wearing wet clothes isn’t healthy. You could get a cold or—” A tug stopped him as he leaned forward to press the restart button.

Whoops.