Meet Me at the Chapel by Joanna Sims

“normal” pragmatic skills; it was possible, however, for Hannah to have friends, a job and a fulfilling social life. With supportive people in her life, Hannah’s quirks and slightly askew social skills would be expected, understood and accepted.
    Casey freshened up a bit and then headed down to the farmhouse. As expected, Brock was at the stove with his standard “Kiss the Chef” apron on, which may have been feminizing on some men, but not on the ranch foreman. Hannah was at the table eating macaroni and cheese out of her plastic ladybug bowl, with her ladybug silverware. Casey had a feeling that Hannah insisted on eating out of that particular bowl, using those particular utensils—and if she didn’t get her way, she would either begin to have a tantrum or flat-out refuse to eat.
    â€œThanks for the invite.” Casey sat down at the table.
    â€œIt’s gluten free.” Brock handed her a bowl. “Hannah’s allergic.”
    â€œI figured.” Casey nodded. “I actually dated someone who had celiac disease, so I have a lot of gluten-free recipes stored on my phone if you want to see if I have any that you don’t have.”
    â€œThat would help,” Brock told her. “I have a heck of a time getting her to eat much of anything other than mac and cheese. That’s all she wants. Mac and cheese.”
    â€œI have some tricks up my sleeve,” Casey reassured him.
    Hannah finished her meal quickly, left the table without taking her bowl to the sink and ended up on the floor in the living room playing with Hercules.
    â€œI’d like to take a couple of days to get settled in here, let Hannah get used to the change, and in the meantime, we can sit down and talk about some practical goals,” Casey said quietly.
    Brock agreed with her timeline. Any change, even if it were a positive change like Casey coming to stay on the ranch for the summer, would be difficult for Hannah to process.
    â€œI’d like to hear your thoughts.” Brock stabbed a chunk of hot dog he had mixed into his mac and cheese with his fork. Before he took that bite he added, “I’m sure you have some.”
    He was right—she did. Her brain just naturally observed children with special needs, catalogued the behaviors to try to fit the pieces into a puzzle and then, always, there were a list of goals that emerged from her informal, naturalistic evaluation. She had been a special education teacher for a decade and it was like breathing now—it happened without thinking about it. And, in the short time she had observed Hannah, she had made a laundry list of pragmatic goals—but it was always up to the parent and child, if possible, to help prioritize those goals.
    â€œThis arrangement is going to work out real well for all of us,” Brock interrupted her thoughts.
    She looked up from her bowl—she had been staring at it, but her thoughts were on Hannah. “I think so, too.”
    After they were done with their food, they lingered at the table for a little while longer, making small talk mainly, before clearing the table. Casey offered to wash the dishes, but Brock told her to just pile them in the sink and he’d get around to them later. The outside of the house was where Brock liked to spend his time and energy—that was obvious by how far along in the cleanup outside he was. On the other hand, the inside of the house was as messy or even more messy than it had been a week ago. For Hannah’s sake especially, some semblance of order and cleanliness needed to be established in the house. She wasn’t going to lead with that thought—Brock might not appreciate her butting in that far to his personal space. Yet if she was going to earn her keep, she had to be honest with him. Part of her job had always been to have courageous conversations with parents.
    * * *
    â€œGood morning!” Casey greeted him with that bright smile that