You Found Me

7. The Shadowman

THE ENCHANTED FOREST, THREE YEARS AGO.

Other senses proceed sight, generally, when Henry reaches consciousness in the mornings. First, his ears wake up and fill his head with birdsong and creaks of the other side of the bed belonging to his wife, and, more recently, the pattering of little feet across the small home they'd created. Lucy has been beating her parents to the sunrises, sliding out of her bed and sitting on haystacks to watch the clouds burst with sunlight. Henry has found that once she gets bored of that, she'll bring her footprints inside and sometimes--usually--makes enough intentional noise to wake her parents.

Next is his nose; the scent of morning air and Ella's hair and sometimes, breakfast wafting from the kitchen when Ella manages to wake before he does. But his favorite has always been touch. More often than not, he finds himself reaching across the mattress for his wife before he even opens his eyes, and his hand will find the thickness of her hair or the warmth of her chest, and he'll relax into her, knowing she'll be there every time, but finding all of his strength and happiness in the reassurance. On really special days, he'll wake up to a kiss or two before his eyes blink open.

Today, he rolls over and gropes for her touch, but the bed is emptier than usual. He opens his eyes and stretches with the newfound space, but still finds himself longing for her presence even though he'd only just seen her the night before. They've been married for six years now, but he sometimes thinks he loves her a little more every day, and only wants more and more of her--enough that her touch not being the first moment of his day is likely to throw off the rest of it. He never knew how annoying and sappy he would be as a husband. He thinks of himself ten years ago, knowing the eighteen-year-old would be gagging at his future self. He chuckles to himself and sits up straighter, pulling on his riding pants but not bothering to change out of his nightshirt. He glances out the window at the sun and judges it's not yet seven o'clock. What's Ella doing up this early?

He doesn't get a chance to stand fully before a small figure races into the room and barrels into his chest. His heart pounds warmly and he wraps his arms around her, fingers tangling in her dark hair and scratching lightly at her scalp.

"G'morning, Daddy!" the five-year-old grins up at him, and he can't help but smile back so widely his cheeks ache. He will never tire of this. It hurts to think of his mother, but he can't stop himself, and all at once he thinks that he finally understands how she felt about him. It's an ongoing realization he keeps coming back to as he raises Lucy--something that's utterly impossible to grasp until he can hold his daughter in his arms and roughhouse her onto the bed, growling as he flips over on top of her and tickles her in all of her favorite spots.

"What are you doing up so early, princess?" he asks once she's settled down and found her breath after his merciless pinching. She lays sprawled on the bed, tangling her limbs in the sheets and rubbing her bottom into the mattress. She always says that their bed is the comfiest, and last year, Henry was positive she faked quite a few nightmares just to be allowed to sleep sandwiched between her parents.

She gives him a silly smile with two rows of perfect baby teeth, and Henry's heart pinches for a moment when he thinks of her losing them within the next year. "Watching the sunrise, Daddy," she replies like she always does, and Henry rubs his thumb over her small hand fondly, enjoying the habitual conversation they have most mornings. "You should watch it too!"

Well, this part is new. He laughs and shakes his head. "I dunno, Pumpkin, Daddy needs all the sleep he can get." He twists and his back pops satisfyingly.

But then she's looking at him with those big brown eyes and he's shaking his head again, caving faster than the pressure it takes to pick apart cotton. "But if you really want me to watch it with you tomorrow, I will."