Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(121)

A petting zoo.

That’s why Hank had been late. He’d bought—or borrowed? Or rented?—a whole damn petting zoo for the party. Everyone was wowed, me included. All worries about Hank’s tardiness were forgotten.

After his grand entrance, the event had been a huge success. When folks spotted Hank kissing me on the cheek and holding my hand under Sienna’s approving and watchful eye, no one dared to bat an eyelash. In fact, we as a couple were invited by JT MacIntyre to sit at his table for the Chamber of Commerce’s annual fundraiser. The invite was akin to being dubbed a Diamond of the First Water back in the olden days, except—you know—without the feathers and ball gowns, or queen.

The only person who kept sending us side-eyes had been Cletus Winston.

I was so grateful for all he’d done to help me get the Buckleys to back off. How Cletus had discovered and obtained proof that both Kevin and his father had been hiring prostitutes, I had no idea. Nor did I want to know. But I was glad Cletus had the documents, and the photographs, and the video recordings.

Though he’d never confronted us about the morning we’d utilized his office to—ahem—sort things out, I suspected Cletus guessed that Hank and I had employed the room for more than just talking. Cletus’s suspicion delighted Hank to no end. I couldn’t feel regret for what happened, but whenever I expressed fleeting guilt about misusing Cletus’s workspace, Hank would only laugh and say something like, “Serves him right, sneaky bastard.”

The workers Hank had brought along for the zoo had set the whole thing up in an hour, unloading every farm animal under the sun. There was even a pony. Kimmy had been beside herself.

When we got home from the party, she couldn’t stop talking about it and—to my horror—even asked Hank if he would buy one for her.

His eyes cut to me, a dangerous-looking—i.e., a malleable—expression sliding over his features. “Well, now, let’s see—”

“No!” I cut in, covering his mouth with my hand and glaring at Kimmy. “You do not ask Hank or anyone else for a pony.”

Kimmy looked pained. “But—but he’s got the money!”

I felt Hank’s mouth curve into a smile beneath my fingers while I fumed. “Kimberly Dawn Mitchell, that was incredibly rude. Mr. Weller is a friend to our family and asking him for expensive gifts is no way to be a friend. How would you like it if people asked you for expensive gifts all the time? Would you want to be their friend? Or would you feel like they were using you for your bank account?”

My daughter glared at me, but I could see I’d made my point. Her neck flushed hot with embarrassment. Biting her bottom lip, her gaze flickered to Hank’s.

With a warning look in his direction, which he’d returned with nothing but wide-eyed innocence, I let my hand fall away.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Kimmy said, and I relaxed at the truly contrite tone she employed. But then she continued, “I—I like you a lot and not just ’cause you’re rich.”

Now I clapped a hand over my mouth, and my eyes closed. I needed a moment.

Good Lord in heaven, help me with this child.

“Thank you, Kimmy,” came Hank’s easy response. “I like you a lot too, and not just ’cause you’re right-handed.”

Peeking one eye open, I looked at Hank.

He lowered to his haunches in front of my daughter, his smile immense in the face of her confused frown. “When you like someone—or express like for someone—for something they didn’t necessarily choose or value, it doesn’t make them feel good about themselves. You can’t help that you were born right-handed. I could probably help being rich, but it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s not something I particularly like about myself, definitely not compared to the other things I work on and value.”

“What do you work on?” she asked, sounding honestly curious.

“Recently? Being patient.” He tilted his head back and forth, considering the question. “My jokes. Being open. Fishing. Giving without expecting anything in return.”

Oh my heart.

“Your jokes are funny, and you are good at fishing. I like that about you, too,” she said softly, tentatively, the words a peace offering.

I blinked against the stinging behind my eyes. Goodness, I was turning into a watering pot, the moments between my wobbly chins growing shorter and shorter. It seemed like every time Hank and the kids were together, they ultimately did something wonderful that tenderized my poor heart.

“Thank you,” he said graciously. “And I like how clever you are, how smart. And how good you are at telling stories.”

Kimmy pressed her lips together and I recognized it as the face she made when she didn’t want to smile but was in serious danger of doing so.

“I’m hungry!” Joshua’s wail sounded from the kitchen. A moment later, he appeared, leading Frankie by the hand, a pathetic look on his face while Frankie clutched at his stomach mournfully.

“What’s for dinner?” Joshua asked.

“We just ate at the party.” I frowned at my pitiful babies. “That was—”

“Hours ago,” Hank said, giving me an amused smile. “It’s not too late, we could order something?”

“Fine. Fine.” I pulled out my phone. “All y’all go get ready for bed. Hank and I will order something, but you’re not eating until you’re in your PJs.”