“Hey, do you need some help with that?” I whisper.

She nods, causing her dark hair to fall slightly into her eyes. Having been around other kids her age, which I’m guessing is about five maybe six, and having seen when one of them has decided to do this exact thing in the store, I turn to where I last saw Clay and find him with a panicked expression on his face as he looks around. Then his eyes land on mine.

Without saying that Winter is in front of me out loud I point to the table and watch his shoulders relax before he heads my way. Crouching down in front of Winter, I take the banana from her. “These things are always hard to open.”

“I know,” she whispers, and I hand her the banana back once I got the skin peeled back, then feel my skin prickle with awareness when Clay crouches down next to me.

“Were you hungry?” he asks, grabbing Winter’s tiny wrist and using it to gently pull her out of her hiding space to stand between his legs.

“Yes, I told you I wanted a banana.”

“I know but I was going to pay for them first.” He chuckles smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

My ovaries trip all over themselves watching him be so gentle with her. Oh goodness, I need to get out of here.

Clearing my throat, I start to stand, but Clay’s large hand wraps around my thigh causing my breath to hitch in the back of my throat.

“Where you running off to, Mouse?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes on his at the nickname.

“She doesn’t look like a mouse,” Winter informs him.

“What does she look like?” he asks her.

“Kind of like a princess.” She reaches over to touch my hair.

“I think you might be right.” He smiles at her. “Winter this is Willow. Willow, my niece, Winter.

“Nice to meet you Winter, I love your name.”

“Thank you.” She smiles as Clay stands and grabs my upper arm to help me up or maybe to keep me from running off because he doesn’t let me go even after we are both standing. “Do you know how to make lasagna?”

“What?” I smile at her not sure where that question came from.

“Uncle Clay can’t cook.” Winter informs me with a mischievous smile.

“Take that back.” Clay starts to tickle her, making her giggle.

“No.” She giggles louder.

I laugh.

“I need to feed this munchkin and she refuses to eat pizza, corn dogs or anything a normal kid would eat.”

“That’s because it’s all over processed,” she tells him in her little voice.

“You’re not wrong.” I agree with her, and she smiles smugly at Clay as if to say, “I told you so”.

“Well, if you agree with her, you can help me make her a non-over-processed meal.”

“Wh—what?” I sputter and he grins.

“Unless you’re seeing your boyfriend tonight.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Winter asks me.