Matthew’s eyes fell shut in relief as he felt her weave herself under his arm, into his hand, and onto his side. The scent of her hair drifted into his nostrils, and he let out a low moan of utter contentment. All was right now, in his world. “Come, Daddy. Come sit and relax.” Her soft voice sang in his ears as he corrected his thought. Almost all was right in the world. He let her lead him back through the kitchen into the family room and smiled again as he sat down in his “daddy chair.” He laughed in the echo of her slapping his hand again when he leaned forward to untie his boots. With a teasing, yet somehow still scolding look, she knelt down and deftly untied the laces before sliding each boot off. He even felt bad when her nose crinkled up at the smell. “Sorry, sweetie.”

He leaned forward as she got up, knowing that she planned to fetch a bowl of hot water and a towel. Before she could turn back to the kitchen, he extended his large hands and securely alighted them on her feminine hips. “No you don’t. Later.” She yelped once, then giggled as he pulled her roughly into his lap and enveloped her in his arms. Her smile spread from ear to ear as she nuzzled in closer to him, wishing she could stay wrapped up in him forever. He smiled as she nuzzled, wishing he never had to let go.

It seemed like time stopped as he sat with her curled in his lap. Were love ever truly measurable, there could be no scale large enough for what filled the room in that endless moment. It was finally broken by a heavy sigh from somewhere in the pile of girl he held. “Two fingers, or four, Daddy?” His eyes fell closed again, and he smiled.

“You’ve already made my day a thousand times better, precious.” He stretched his neck to kiss her forehead as her face snapped up to see his.

“Really?” He always loved that hopeful look on her face, seeking reassurance that he did, in fact, love her as much as his words said he did.

“Really, really.” He kissed her forehead again before pulling his head back to look her in the eyes. He slid his right hand from behind her back and lifted it to her face, gently caressing the back of his fingers against her cheek. “You always do.” Her eyes began to well as she looked up at his smile. “But two fingers would be great.”

“Ugh!!” She tried to squirm off his lap, a lack-luster attempt against his unyielding arms. “Moment ruiner!” She started beating her mock frustration into his chest, redoubling her efforts when they were met with his rumbling, mirthful laughter. He let her flail on him for a few seconds before, purely for effect, he wrapped his hands around her waist again and lifted her off his lap as easily as he’d pulled her onto it. She got her feet under her before he let go, but as he began to lean back, she reached in for another quick jab at his belly before darting out of his reach, giggling uncontrollably. He eyed her for a long moment, mischief clear in his eyes, yet stillness pervading his body. He waited, the patient predator stalking his prey. She waited too, the daring prey taunting her hunter.

 He won. After several long moments, she seemed to give up on him ever playing back with her, disappointed that he would content himself with merely staring her down. Her coiled stance shifted, relaxed, and she started to straighten in order to head for the liquor cabinet. It was precisely what he’d been waiting for. She hadn’t yet fully rose from her poised guard before he launched himself out of his chair at her. He roared his happiest, daddy roar as she screamed and bolted from the room.

His laughter echoed off the walls of the house he built for her… through the rooms of the home she made for him.

As his eyes lowered from the doll-house windows, they fell on the one thing that he’d yearned for his entire life, the thing that had always given him the motivation to keep working when others rested, the thing that never failed to stop his heart when he beheld it. She looked back at him through the open doorway, boundless love tinted with a splash of hurt in her gaze. She knew him like no other could. Even if he’d not texted her earlier that day with the news of the theft, he knew that she’d seen him work to compose himself just now. The picture of empathy, she always knew when he was hurting, and was always faithfully there to ease such burdens. She didn’t come through the doorway. She would never do that. She would stay there, open door and open arms ready to welcome him, but she knew he needed this time to gather himself. She knew that moments like these were the tests he still relied upon to exercise his self-control, his composure. She would wait as long as it took. They remained motionless for several long moments like that, staring into each other’s eyes with such love as has no end or beginning, no top or bottom.

He finally heaved one last, heavy breath and opened the door, sliding out with his bag hanging from his shoulder. His boots fell heavily on the drive and sidewalk as the day’s stress began to slowly drip off of him. The soft, hollow echo of his steps climbing the three stairs to the front porch always made him smile a bit, having the sense of reaffirmation that he was, indeed, home. As he crested the final stair, he raised his eyes again to hers, and he melted into her as he breached the threshold. She deftly caught the bag containing his laptop, his entire business, as it slid from his shoulder, and gently alighted it upon the floor before wrapping her arms around his neck. She let out an explosive breath herself, unaware that she’d been holding it since he’d opened his door. As his strong arms constricted around the small of her back, lifting her from the floor as easily as she might lift a gallon of milk, she nuzzled into the base of his neck. “Welcome home, Daddy.”

Matthew let out an almost inaudible groan of contentment that she felt rumble from his chest, and she smiled, wiggling a bit in an attempt to hug him even tighter. “Thank you, precious.” She giggled at his use of her favorite pet name, and responded automatically with the happy jib she always used. “I’m your wife, not your ring, Bilbo.” As always, he smiled. Squeezing her one more time for good measure, he leaned forward so her heeled feet could touch the floor again and reluctantly unwrapped his arms from her slender waist.

“I heard them out back,” Matthew said as he stooped to pick up his bag. She swatted his hand away as she always did. She enjoyed taking his bag to the study for him, and he enjoyed teasing her by trying to do it himself. It was something of a ritual. She nodded and explained that the kids were playing with the new puppy in the back yard, and had been for almost two hours. A broad smile stretched across his face as he walked through the entry-way into the kitchen and to the bay window of the breakfast nook that overlooked the back yard. He stood there, watching through the window as his three little angels tumbled and giggled over each other, a vicious little ten week old puppy savagely disemboweling any poor victim that made the mistake of laying on the ground where she could reach.

Marie looked up at the man who held her heart in the rough and worn palms of his ever gentle hands. She stood back a moment, just inside his peripheral, and slowly took his visage in. It was his eyes that always caught her breath. The shone with a depth of brilliance that she could lose herself in, and frequently did. The pure intensity with which he watched over his family reverberated in her bones. Never before him had she known anyone who could love so fiercely, so unyieldingly, so keenly. She felt her heart stutter a beat before increasing its pace and pumping a rush of blood to her face.

With conscious effort, she forced her eyes away from his and took in the rest of him. His shoulder blades were being held a little tighter than normal. She could see the faint pinch just below the base of his neck, even with his arms folded across his chest now. Her eyes lowered from his shoulders, taking no small note of his latissimus pushing against his work polo. She smiled when she saw that his hips were rolled forward slightly, straightening his lumbar posture. She had put extra effort in massaging his lower back last night, and was happy to physically see him still feeling better for it. As her eyes slid back up his rigid form, she noticed the corner of his clinched fist, almost entirely hidden beneath his other arm and its sleeve.  His face shone with glee at watching his babies play, but the stress of his day was not yet wholly gone. As if compelled by an unseen force, she felt herself stepping forward to him and worming her way under his arm. She knew he would see it as a tad assertive, but she didn’t care right now. He needed her. As she wormed under his arm, she slipped her hand into his, wordlessly pleading for him to unwind and let her make it all better.

                “Listen, Jim. We are already going to have a chat in my office tomorrow. Interrupt me one more time, or offer one more excuse for the kid’s behavior, and it will be a very short one.” Matthew never liked having to be so harsh with his employees, especially his best, but today’s events had him testing the limits of his composure. The voice on the other end of the line fell silent, but there was no sense of petulance to it. Jim has enormous respect for his boss, who had done so much for him. “Look. I liked the kid. His life is a mess, and I wanted to help him get his feet back under him as much as you did. Brother-in-law to you or not, I cannot tolerate what he’s done. I built this company with bricks of integrity, mortared together with my own blood, sweat and tears. For Christ’s sake, Jim, I started out of the trunk of an Acura.”

For a short moment, Matthew flashed back on his rusty little sedan, still amazed at how many paint buckets he could fit in the trunk before the suspension bottomed out. He smiled inwardly, thankful for his success as he slowed his far more work worthy van into the last turn before his driveway. “I cannot, and will never accept from any of my employees either deceit or theft. Period. I spent almost seventeen hundred dollars on tools today, replacing what the kid took from the customer's garage. Under your watch, mind you. More important than that, I almost lost customers with whom I’ve had a relationship for over six years. He’s lucky I talked them out of pressing charges.”

The voice on the other end of the line sighed, and Matthew felt his heart drop, feeling the same grief for what was obviously a troubled kid on hard times. “I’m not going to keep his last check to help pay for the tools. I’m going to pay it as usual, but I want you to help get him into rehab. The kid needs help. He needs to realize he needs help. I’ve done all I can. Talk to him tonight. Make sure he understands that if he comes within a block of my job site again, I will let them press charges, and I will give testimony during the proceedings. Impress upon him precisely how serious this matter is.” His last statement was as final and conclusive as his shifting the van into park in his driveway.

“Yes, sir.” Jim’s voice was obviously pained as it came through the van's speakers. Matthew could fully empathize with the anguish his favorite foreman was going through. Addiction, and the insanity that surrounded it, was not a new phenomenon for him. “I’ll take care of it. Anything else I can do with the customer?”

Matthew smiled. Jim was a good man. “No. They will be okay. Just finish the job as usual. Your quality will be enough. Try to enjoy your night as much as you can. I’ll see you tomorrow.” After Jim’s affirmation, Matthew reached forward to his phone mounted on the console and tapped the little red icon, ending the call. With his eyes shut, he heaved a heavy sigh, consciously loosening his grip on the wheel when he heard the low moan of strain emitting from it. He sat there a moment, breathing slowly, heavily, deliberately. He took ten, belly deep breaths, each exhale lessening his tension bit by bit. With is final exhalation, he opened his eyes and looked up at his house. His home.

His heart simultaneously dropped and soared as his eyes roamed over the familiar, cream painted façade of this structure that was always far more that a house. Modeled, somewhat, after the southern plantation style homes found in Georgia or the Carolina’s, he had built this home himself. Of course, he’d brought in crews for things like the foundation, and hanging rafters and beams, but the house was of his design and built almost entirely by himself. Its wrap-around porch pronounced itself proudly from the front door and gently enveloped the perimeter of the house with a subtle elegance. The second story doll-house windows that breached the roof line above the porch’s over hang always seemed to him like a pair of watchful eyes, keeping lookout down the long driveway, ever vigilant in their part to help him protect his family.