Mack’s hand searched the sheets for Aisne’s soft, warm body. He pulled her back to his front and whispered against her neck. “Morning.”

“Hmm.” She wrapped her arms around his. “It’s nice having you around in the morning.”

“I’ll talk to Dave about starting later.” Even with his promotion, that wasn’t going to happen, but he could dream.

“That’d be lovely.” She turned in his arms, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. “Do you hear that?”

“The TV?”

“Yeah. Her favorite show just started.”

He could make out the theme song to the Dancing Dragons cartoon. “And?”

“That means we have a half hour”—she kissed him again—“of child-free time.”

“Thirty minutes, huh?”

“Yep.” Her hands skimmed down his back. “Thirty minutes. You and me. Alone.”

“What do you suggest we do?” He grinned, knowing exactly what they were going to do.

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?” She leaned over him, her lips barely a breath from his. Her long, silky, dark hair cascaded over his shoulders and tangled around him like a restraint that he never wanted to break.

“I love you.” He’d loved her since the day they’d met. She’d been almost seventeen, heavy with child, and so alone. He’d been eighteen with no real family, only Nana Blue and Uncle Percy. “We should make a baby.”

“I thought we were getting ready to do just that.” She laughed as she wrapped one long leg over his hip.

A scream echoed through the room.

“Bridgette.” Aisne’s eyes widened and for one second, she tightened her grip around him.

“Tissues or paper and pencil?” He hopped out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

“Paper and pencil.”

“You think?” He glanced at her, loving his life—even this interruption. “Tissues happen more.”

“I put the tissues on the top of the cabinet in the laundry room. She can’t reach them.”

“Cheater.” He leaned down and kissed her.

She pushed at his chest. “You better hurry. She’s getting ready for another blast.”

The screaming had stopped but only long enough for Bridgette to gather her breath.

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“Got it.” He hurried out of their bedroom.

Ruffalo stood outside their door, his large, fluffy tail wagging slowly.

“You’re supposed to warn us if she gets the tissues or paper and pencil.” Never pens. She only used pencils to poke holes in paper before rubbing her hands over it as she screamed.

The big mutt barked at him before trotting down the hall toward the laundry room. He followed, his pace increasing as the noise grew louder.

“Everything okay?” yelled Aisne.

“I think so. Ruffalo’s not worried.”

The first few times Bridgette had screamed like this, he’d raced through the house, his heart ready to burst from his chest until he’d found her and had realized that she was fine. Now, logic told him it was nothing but her quirks, but deep in his gut he couldn’t shake the fear that something horrible was happening to her. His hand trembled slightly as he opened the door.

His daughter sat on the floor in her pink pajamas, staring at the torn-up tissues scattered around her and screaming. His heart broke at her tear-stained cheeks and red face.

“Hey, baby girl. It’s okay.” He strode into the room and picked her up.

“Da-daddy.” She buried her face against his shoulder, her snot and tears wetting his skin.

“Shhh. Baby. Daddy’s got you. It’s okay.” He turned and shooed Ruffalo away from the door as he walked down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Which was it?” Aisne came into the room. She’d put on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. With no makeup and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked no older than she had when he’d met her almost seven years ago.

“Tissues.” He clutched Bridgette tighter. “I’m going to take her into the living room.

“Okay. I’ll bring some breakfast as soon as I”—she lowered her voice and moved to where Bridgette couldn’t see her—"clean up the remains.” She grinned as she picked up the broom and dustpan.

He went into the living room, Ruffalo behind him, and sat on the couch. “It’s okay, baby. Nothing’s going to get you.”

Bridgette rubbed her nose on his chest and turned on his lap. “Dragons.” She snuggled against him, her eyes locked on the TV.

He kissed her dark brown hair, so like her mother’s. She was almost a perfect, little replica of Aisne, except for her eyes. Aisne’s were the green of the forest and Bridgette’s were brown, so dark it was sometimes hard to see her pupils. They must’ve come from her biological father. Fortunately, they were close enough to his brown eyes to answer her questions until she was old enough to understand that biological didn’t mean crap. Love was all that mattered, and he loved her. She was his daughter. “Bridge, why are you afraid of torn up tissues?”

She didn’t answer, lost in the cartoon.

“Bridgette?” He poked her side, making her giggle. “Why do you tear up the tissues if it scares you?” He’d asked her this so many times, but she never answered. He’d keep asking until she either stopped or told him her fears. That was the only way he could help her.

“Stop, tickling me.” She wiggled on his lap, laughing.

“Oh, I can’t do that.” Her laughter made his world right .He held up his finger. “This is the tickle monster, and you woke him.” He lowered his voice. “Now, he must be fed.”

“No.” She squirmed and squealed as he kept poking her.

Aisne came into the room with a bowl of cereal and put it on the coffee table. “Young lady, you wasted an entire box of tissues.”

“Sorry, Mommy.” Bridgette climbed off his lap and took a mouthful of cereal.

Ruffalo squeezed in by her side, eyeing her dish.

“Why Bridgette? Why do you keep doing this?” asked Aisne.

“And why does it frighten you?” he added.

Bridgette shrugged, her eyes back on the television.

“You’re buying the next box with your allowance,” said Aisne.

He stood and took his girlfriend’s hand. “She’s watching her show now. We can”—he glanced at their bedroom—“continue where we left off.”

“We don’t have much time. I need to go to the grocery store before Dave’s party.”

“We’ll take a shower. Two birds one stone so to speak.” He grabbed her hips and backed her toward their bedroom.

“Bridge, honey. Be good. Mommy and Daddy are going to their room for a few minutes,” said Aisne.

“Okay.” Bridgette waved but never moved her eyes from the dragons on the TV.