Casanova(58)

His little cheeks flushed pink. “You’re pretty.”

Brett covered his mouth with his hand.

“Well, you’re very handsome, Mr. Sy.” I kissed his cheek. “I’d love to start your race.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Nobody ever kisses my cheek when it’s my birthday.”

The males here were demanding.

“Here.” I leaned around Sy and kissed Eliot’s cheek too. “Is that better?”

He blushed bright red.

“All right, stop flirting with the pretty girl,” Brett said.

“No fair,” Eliot said. “You keep flirting with her.”

“She’s the same age as me. I’m allowed to flirt with her.”

“She’s too pretty for you,” Hilaria, a six-year-old little girl butted in from where she was making daisy chains a few feet away. “Honestly, Brett. As my mommy would say, honey, you are batting out of your gosh-darn league, aren’tcha?” She punctuated that with a sassy raise of her eyebrows.

I bit my cheek to stop myself laughing at the perfect, white-blond little girl. She had that look down something fierce, and my god, the world had to be ready for that one to grow up.

“She’s right.” Eliot nodded somberly. “Why do you get the pretty girl?”

“Because he’s a pretty boy,” Sy answered.

“I’m not pretty!” Brett argued. “I’m handsome.”

Sy looked at him dryly. “So am I, and I’m seven.”

“Touché,” Brett muttered.

“All right,” I said, fighting real laughter. “Can we move on? Boys, on three. First to the beanbags, okay? One, two, three.” I clapped my hands and they both shot off down the path.

“These children kill me,” Brett whispered. “But I kinda love them.”

“Really,” I whispered back quietly. “I couldn’t tell.”

He nudged me with a quiet chuckle. “They’re so happy despite it all. I can’t help it.”

Hilaria clapped her hands. “Are you talking about us again?”

“Only about how beautiful you are,” he replied without a missing a beat.

“Mhmmmm.” She stared at him. “Here.” She got up and tapped the top of his head. He ducked it, and she placed a daisy chain necklace around his neck with quiet tenderness. “There you go. Now you’re a little prettier than before.”

I looked down, hiding my mouth behind my hand. God love childhood bluntness.

“And Miss Lani.” She put another over my head before I could do anything.

The soft petals of the daisies tickled against my collarbone. “Why, thank you, Miss Hilaria. It’s beautiful.”

She grinned, showing a missing top tooth. “My mommy taught me forevers ago. She doesn’t always make them now, but I like to.”

“I have an idea,” Brett said, taking her tiny hand. “Why don’t me and you make your mommy one?”

Hilaria tilted her head to the side. “Yes. Mommy would like that.” She immediately walked past us. “We need the long daisies. They’re the bestestest ones.”

“You got it.” Brett got onto his hands and knees and scoured the grass for the best daisies.

Yep. I should have left hours ago. Could I handle Brett Walker on his knees, helping a six-year-old little girl search for daisies?

I didn’t think so.

In fact, as I watched him pluck one from the grass, I knew I couldn’t.

Oh, lordy, lord, lord.

My heart, my soul, everything. It burst as he placed it in the palm of her hand without crushing a petal.

He was so crude and forceful sometimes. How could he be so tender too?

“I win!” Sy screamed, almost crashing into the porch.

Eliot came up a second later. “You’re right. You did. Good job, buddy!”

I smiled as the older boy patted Sy on the shoulder. Then he grinned at me and winked. With two eyes.

Seriously. My heart.

If it survived today it would be a goddamn miracle.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


BRETT



Lani hadn’t said a word since we left the shelter.

I could see on her face that she was trying to process what she’d seen. Confusion flitted across her face in the form of a furrowed brow and wrinkled nose every few minutes. I didn’t know what to say to her to help her, mostly because the conversation that was coming had to be driven by her.

She was curious. She always had been. She always had to know every little thing in the world. Everything had to be explained right down to the letter. Even the letter itself had to be explained.

She had a million questions for me. I just knew it.

And I was fucking terrified.

Back there, she looked at me like she didn’t hate me.

Like I wasn’t total shit.

Like I wasn’t nothing.

Like I was somebody.

Somebody she respected.

And fuck, it was her, wasn’t it?

Her opinion. Always her opinion. She was all that mattered. Fucking hell, why did it have to be her? Of all the people that could matter to me it was her, even now, eight years later.

Shit.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I sat on the beach next to her. My toes dug into the soft, hot sand. If it weren’t for the blanket we were sitting on, my ass would be burning like a damn liar right about now.