“Which one? You ask a lot—too much if you were wondering.”
My smile widened and my attention caught on the way her throat shifted again, the movement faint but so telling. “If I stayed?”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” she whispered.
That energy pulled tighter and tighter between us with her blatant lie, but I forced myself to step away. Leaving her pressed against the frame as I slipped into the house.
She followed me in, voice hushed and demanding. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t leave without saying bye to Nora.” I met her wide-eyed stare, words dancing with amusement when I said, “But I think I’ll stay for dinner first.”
A soft laugh rumbled in my chest when I left her standing in the entryway, expression an intriguing mixture of irritation and wonder.
I closed the door to my truck, steps cautious as I took the path up to Lala’s porch. Eyes darting over the house like there was something unfamiliar about it. Or maybe it was just that I knew Emma was inside, and she made everything about the house and this visit feel different.
I stopped by every day, but Sundays were special. Only today, I felt restless. Like my run had gone on forever, and I couldn’t get back home and shower fast enough. Wanting to see that wild card of a girl even though she wasn’t why I was here.
But she was all I could think about anymore.
I’d stayed late into the evening Friday, talking with her and Lala long after Nora had gone to bed until Lala had not-so-subtly tried leaving us alone.
It hadn’t worked.
The moment Lala stood and very clearly excused herself, the energy spiraling between us had thickened and pulsed, and Emma had nearly jumped from her chair in an attempt to beat Lala up the stairs.
Not that Emma had been offering much to the conversation before, only little pieces here and there. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t said a word all night because she’d smiled . . . she’d laughed.
And, Christ, they were both completely her.
Soft. Beautiful. With a slight edge as if her bitterness never truly left her.
Fucking perfect.
Yesterday had been much of the same. Lala conning me into staying longer and longer until Nora had gone to sleep, and Emma and I realizing some time later that Lala had never come back downstairs.
Emma hadn’t even said goodnight. Just hurried for the stairs, her soft smile slipping away as she’d snapped, “You know the way out.”
And I’d been consumed in thoughts of that hesitant girl wrapped up in a shield of ice and steel ever since.
I quickly climbed the steps and ran a hand through my still-damp hair. Dragging in deep, calming breaths as I tried to prepare myself to see Emma again before reaching for the doorknob. A smile crossing my face when I opened the door and saw Nora jumping up from where she’d been waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“My Reed!”
“There’s my favorite girl.” I caught her in a crushing hug and then held her back to inspect her, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I think this is the fanciest you’ve ever been.”
“Really?” she asked, her voice matching mine. “I worked really hard all morning. Everyone at church loved it.”
“Of course they did.” I looked around her, then gave her a shocked look. “But where’s Éclair?”
She gasped and covered her mouth before turning and dashing up the stairs.
I straightened and turned for the kitchen, stopping when I was slammed with all that wild energy and need. Hazel eyes narrowed in curiosity and full lips slightly tipped up as she held a mug close to her chest. That current swirling around us nothing less than a charged minefield.
And I wanted to step right in.
“Reed,” she murmured as she turned away.
“Stalker.”
A hum of strained irritation left her. “So, are you just always here?”
“Does it bother you?” I asked as I followed her deeper into the kitchen to lean up against the island.
“I think it’s weird,” she said bluntly as she took a similar position at the counter opposite me, her eyes traveling over me before quickly darting away.
I fought a grin as she cleared her throat and continued.
“I mean, you come see a woman who is . . . what, probably twice your age and a young child?”
“Well, when you try to make it weird . . .”
She just lifted an eyebrow in response as she drank from the mug.
“Lala took me in as her own the way she does a lot of people. When she needed help, I was there, and Nora clung to that—clung to me.” I shrugged unapologetically. “And when that little girl chooses you? That’s a gift you don’t refuse.”
“And because of that, you’re here every day?” she challenged, but there was no bite to her words, just genuine curiosity.
I wavered for a moment as I thought of what to say, what all to tell her, then glanced over my shoulder and listened for sounds of her younger sister. When there were none, I looked back at Emma and lowered my voice. “You don’t know her yet, but Nora needs stability. She . . .” I ground my jaw as my chest ached for that little girl. “She can’t handle when things change.”
Emma’s eyebrows drew close, her stare darting away as if looking for the girl in question before meeting mine again. “What do you mean?”
I rubbed at my chest, hesitating again because talking to anyone about Nora felt like a betrayal to her. Felt like I wasn’t protecting her when I’d sworn to do exactly that. “Your mom was using when she was pregnant with Nora.”
Emma’s expression fell into a mask of nothing.
“Nora’s lucky, considering.”
“But?” Emma asked tightly.
“She has a mild heart defect. Everything else is just . . . I don’t know. I think it’s part of what makes her Nora, you know? Lala said she started talking and walking—all of that—long after she should’ve, and she still learns at a slower pace. And like I said, she needs consistency. She can’t handle high-stress situations or if things change. But I think she’s perfect, and she’s fucking smart. You’d never know she struggles with any of that unless you witnessed it.”
“So, me being here . . .” Emma murmured when the sound of little feet running across the top floor could be heard.
“No,” I said quickly. “You’ll know when she can’t handle something. But I think she’s so used to people coming in and out of here for Thursdays that she sees you the way she sees all of them.” I pushed from the island and walked a few steps away to be ready for when Nora came in, lips already curling into a smile when her voice preceded her.
“I found her, I found her!” she yelled before she came rushing in, holding up her favorite stuffed dog in the air. “I looked everywhere for her, but she was hiding. And then I finally found her in my bed.”
“Maybe Éclair was tired,” I said as I accepted the dog from her. “It’s hard work keeping you safe all night.”
She giggled and reached for my hand, swinging my arm wildly as she asked, “Can we read now?”
“Of course. But where’s Lala?”
My arm abruptly stopped, and Nora’s head lowered, her happiness disappearing in an instant as her eyes drifted to the side—where Emma still lingered.
I glanced over my shoulder at her, but she was still staring straight ahead. Expression blank and mug suspended in air.
I lowered to a crouch in front of Nora and asked, “Where’s Lala?”
Nora wavered for a few seconds before moving to my side to whisper in my ear. “She left me with that one. After church, she brought me home and said it was okay if I was here with that one while she went to pick up lunch. But I don’t think I like that one.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked softly. “Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t think she likes me.”
My heart twisted at the genuine sadness in her words, and I looked at her wounded stare. “That isn’t true, Nora.”
“What?” I feigned shock and then glanced at Emma one more time before giving Nora a sly look. “You know what? I think it’s because she’s jealous that you look fancier than she does.”
Nora’s mouth popped open wide at the idea.
“But, hey, even if she didn’t like you—which isn’t the case—you’d have to be okay with that. Right? We don’t need everyone to like us.”
Nora nodded firmly even as her face scrunched together uncertainly. “But that one and me have the same mommy . . .”
“Nora, she likes you,” I assured her. “But was it weird for you to find out you had a sister?”
She thought for a second before saying, “Yeah.”
“Okay, it was probably a lot weirder for her because she’s the older one. If I found out I had a six-year-old sister, I’d have a hard time with it too.” I worked my jaw as messages and arguments and family bullshit flashed through my mind before I could push it away. “All right?”
“Okay,” she said after a while and cradled her dog close when I handed it back to her.
“Where are your books?”
“In the living room!” she said, her excitement back in an instant.
“All right, go get them all in order. I’m gonna get some coffee, and I’ll be there in a minute.” Once she was dashing off to the other room, I stood and turned to find Emma pulling a mug down.
“What did she mean, I didn’t say anything about how fancy she looks?” she asked softly as she set the mug in front of me.
“Thanks,” I muttered, then sighed. “What she’s wearing . . . she dresses up on Sundays.”
Emma didn’t say anything until I looked at her. And even then, she gave me a helpless look for a moment before glancing to the kitchen entrance. “She’s dressed the same as every other day.”
A soft laugh pulled from me. “I know. But on Sundays, she puts on almost every piece of jewelry that she has and puts bows in her hair. She wears certain shoes . . .” I shrugged when Emma looked back at me, a crease formed between her brows. “She’s obsessed with Fancy Nancy.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s these books,” I explained, gesturing behind me before taking a sip of coffee. “The girl in it is into France and everything being fancy. It’s our thing on Sundays—I come for lunch, and Nora and I read all the books together.”
“All of them?”
“All the ones she has,” I confirmed.
“Seems like you’re into being fancy,” she whispered dryly, the corner of her mouth twitching into a ghost of a smirk.
I lifted my pinky, forcing a soft laugh from her. “She’s learning to read,” I said more seriously, then added, “Slowly. She works on it every day because she likes learning. But these books are helping a lot because she already knows them almost by heart and she wants to be able to read them. So, they’re good for her.”
A hint of some emotion I couldn’t begin to understand swept across her face as I spoke, replacing her amusement. But I would’ve sworn there was a flash of resentment in her eyes.
“Why do you do this?” she asked when I started stepping back to head to the living room. “I heard what you said about stability, but she isn’t your responsibility—you aren’t her guardian. Lala is.”
I wavered as buried truths ached to be revealed and forced a smile. “I’d die for that little girl,” I said simply, then turned and walked away.
* * *
“Sundays are a good day to call your momma,” Lala said when I walked into the kitchen a couple hours later, all casual indifference even though she said the same thing every week.
I held the air in my lungs for a moment before slowly releasing it, somehow managing not to grit my teeth when I said, “Drop it, Lala.”
“I’ll drop it when you make it right.”
Emma’s stare darted between us from where she was sitting at the table with Lala. Legs crossed on the chair and teasing me because she was all comfort in a threadbare shirt with her hair piled messily on top of her head. Such a contradiction from the girl I knew she could be and the way she usually dressed. And that contradiction only intrigued me more.
Forcing my gaze away from her, I leaned up against the island and told Lala, “We aren’t talking about this.”
“Oh, we never are,” she mumbled, eyes on where she was turning her cup in circles. “Because some young men I know are too stubborn to swallow their pride and fix what’s wrong.”
“Lala.”
She looked over at me, tone all dry and mocking. “Sorry . . . did I say something?”
I roughed my palm over my jaw and refrained from rolling my eyes because that would only land me in deeper shit with her. “I’m tired of doing this,” I said softly, the hint of warning weaving through my words. “I’ll fix it when I’m ready.”
“And by then, it might be too late.”
“Lala,” I ground out, voice sharp and irritated in response to the argument she liked to fall back on—to the same argument we had all the time.
She just raised a brow in disapproval.
Forcing out a calming breath, I pushed away the frustration and jerked my chin toward the entrance of the kitchen. “Nora’s cleaning up, but she’s in a mood. We didn’t finish reading.”
In an instant, everything about Lala changed. She straightened and her expression shifted into a mixture of worry and curiosity. “Oh?”
“She started pouting and getting upset, so I told her we were done for today. And then—” I stopped when I heard Nora’s steps in the entryway and then pointed in that direction when she very obviously stomped up the stairs. “That.”
“Oh Lord, no,” Lala muttered as she stood.
“Yeah . . . have fun.” I listened as she left the kitchen, my stare drifting back to where Emma was tracing lines on the table with her finger.
“Is that my fault?” Emma asked once Lala was gone. Her gaze lifted to meet mine as she unnecessarily clarified, “Nora.”
I shrugged. “She can’t do that.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“In Nora’s mind, maybe. But . . . no. It isn’t.”
We’d only been a couple books in when Lala had come back with lunch earlier. I should’ve figured out what was going on with Nora while we were eating because she’d talked almost as little as Emma had. Her tiny face had scrunched up tighter and tighter each time Emma offered something until her chin was tucked into her chest. I hadn’t been able to tell if she was about to cry or if she was just pissed in a way six-year-olds could get.
But I’d been too focused on Emma to notice the depth of it until we were cleaning up, and Nora was practically dragging me back to the living room to continue reading. Once we were settled in her favorite reading spot, it had been as if nothing had ever happened.
Until Emma came in a few books later.
Just walked in and sat down across the room without saying a word, watching curiously until Nora grabbed the book out of my hands and slammed it shut, saying, “That one can’t be here.”
Emma had left as abruptly and quietly as she’d appeared, even though I’d tried telling her she didn’t have to go. And Nora had opened the book back up with a contented sigh as if all was right in her world again . . . until I’d taken the book away to talk to her.
“She can’t do that,” I repeated to Emma.
“It’s because I’m changing things?” she asked. “Like you mentioned earlier?”
“No.” The word was a soft laugh. “Again, you’ll know when Nora is struggling with something because it’s changing on her. It’s . . .” I thought about the times I’d witnessed it and pushed from the counter to sit in the seat Lala had vacated. “Loud and heartbreaking.”
Emma’s eyebrows pulled together, but she didn’t ask for more details on what happened during those times.
“She thi
nks you don’t like her,” I explained even though I was sure Emma had already heard Nora say that earlier. “And, apparently, she’s getting possessive because she’s jealous of you.”
Surprise and confusion marred her face for a few moments before a huff left her, all soft amusement and bitterness. “What?”
“I guess she’s starting to see everything with your mom differently—the fact that she was left by her when you weren’t.”
Anger and resentment flashed in Emma’s eyes before she could hide it, leaving a mask of ice and steel.
“She’s six,” I tried to explain. “In her head, she doesn’t understand why you got to live with your mom and she didn’t. And because of that, she doesn’t want you to have Lala or me. She’ll get over it when she gets to know you.”
“Have Lala or you,” she said. “Because you are hers the same as Lala is.” She cut a cold look my way and offered me a smile that would’ve made lesser men shrink. “Because the two of you raise Nora together in this weird, family thing you and my grandma have going on.”
“That’s fucking disgusting,” I muttered.
“That’s how it is, isn’t it?” she challenged.
“I think you’re reaching because you want a reason to hate me.”
A bitter laugh fell from her lips. “I hate you plenty, Reed.”
A smile stretched across my face at the obvious lie. “I think it kills you that you don’t.”
Her expression faltered for half a second before she was able to fix it in place, but that hiccup had my smile growing. “Are you leaving yet?”
“If I go, will I see you tomorrow?”
Shock stole across her expression and filled the kitchen with silence. “What?” she finally asked after long moments, voice soft and breathless.
“Just wondering if you’ll let me in Lala’s house again once I leave,” I murmured, the slightest tease lacing my words.
A stunned laugh fled from her as she sat back in her seat.
“What’d you think I was asking?”
Her eyes rolled before settling on me with another one of those glares, but the chill behind it was gone. “Again: Are you leaving yet?”
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