Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(26)

“It’s okay. You probably don’t know any better words.”

Before I could react to that surprising declaration, Charlotte’s small girl-child walked over and tapped me on the shoulder, thrusting her chin out. She, too, had a runny nose. Scowling at her cherub face—which, I noted, didn’t scare her at all—I held a tissue up and she blew into it. Then she took one from the box and wiped at her lip, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Hank.”

“You’re welcome,” I said automatically then paused, studying her. “Wait a minute, how’d you know my name?”

The girl pointed across the room and I followed the line created by her finger. Beau stood with Jennifer Winston and they were smiling at each other, two of Green Valley’s most beloved citizens, basking in each other’s mutual appreciation. Gag.

“Miss Jennifer told me,” the child confirmed. Then she added, “I like your face, Mr. Hank. I like looking at it.”

Turning incredulous eyes to the little girl, a shocked laugh escaped my lips. “You are quite forward.”

She smiled, all charisma and baby teeth, mesmerizing and leaving me with an odd, warm feeling in my chest. Then she walked back to the picture she was drawing on my old newspaper.

Discomfited by my involuntary reaction to the little charmer, I kept one cautious eye on her and turned the remainder of my attention back to Joshua. “It’s not okay and I do know better words. I shouldn’t have used that word in front of you and your baby sister. I apologize.”

“I’ve heard the F-word plenty of times.” His shoulders lifted. “My grandma uses it a lot, but she says it’s because she doesn’t know any better words.”

I placed the used snot rags on the corner of the coffee table then handed him the box of tissues. “But your momma doesn’t use it?”

Joshua frowned thoughtfully, considering my question.

My eyes automatically searched the family room for Charlotte and I didn’t find her or her yoga pants. Yoga pants. I shook my head, irritated with myself for being talked into hiring Charlotte. And now I’m stuck being just her boss.

I lowered my eyebrows at the wrongness of the thought. What I really meant was that I was stuck with her. At the club. I didn’t want her at the club. Or anywhere. Even if I wasn’t her boss, I wouldn’t want her—

I shook my head. Whatever. I knew what I meant, and for better or worse, I was her boss. Despite what folks in town thought about me, I had strict professional standards for myself and for my team. Customers pushing and rallying against personal boundaries—weekly, daily, hourly—was central to the nature of my business. Maintaining a safe environment at all times was no small task.

The next time she and I spoke, I’d inform her that yoga pants weren’t allowed as part of her work attire. Despite looking sleep-deprived when I’d walked in—her hair pulled in a lopsided bun, her eyes tired and shadowed—the woman was still stunning. The club didn’t need the fineness of her ass and long legs and generous tits on display in a businessy dress shirt and tight skirt, nor did the club need her too-snug T-shirts and curve-enhancing yoga pants. She was a disaster waiting to happen. Someone would see her and assume she was a dancer, chaos would ensue, and my club would be on the hook again.

Even angry, the woman was beautiful. She hadn’t seemed happy to see me earlier. And speaking of, that rankled. Here I was helping her, wasn’t I? I’d given her a job, I’d saved her from stripping at The G-Spot, I’d gone above and beyond, and she’d been downright salty to me when I’d walked in.

My lips curved of their own accord at the memory. With the caterer. Did I want more salt for my canapé. Why I smiled now while recalling her words then, I had no idea. That woman had giant balls and tits of steel and a spine of solid titanium. No wonder her kids were so . . . so . . .

Impressive.

“No. Momma says, ‘Oh crumbs!’” Joshua said finally, cutting through my musings. “Or sometimes, ‘Frankenstein and beans.’” He lifted his arm as though to wipe his nose on his shirt sleeve.

Again, I caught his wrist, huffing my impatience.

“For Christ’s sake, blow your own nose, kid. You got working fingers, use them.” I released his wrist and tapped the box full of clean tissues. “You don’t cuss either? Never said the F-word?”

He set the box on his lap and plucked at the opening, curling back the lip of cardboard. “I have no reason to use that word.” His eyes cut to mine, held, then he added, “Yet.” Pulling out a tissue, he finally wiped his own nose.

Something about the way he said yet made me smile. “The day is coming, though?” I tapped his elbow with mine, whispering conspiratorially.

Joshua seemed to give my question some thought, answering solemnly, “Eventually.”

My mouth curved again. Damn, I was having fun. This kid was fun. He didn’t talk like I’d expected kids to talk. When was the last time I’d been surprised by anyone?

Uh, about a week and a half ago when their momma walked into your club offering to strip. That’s when.

Fine. When was the last time I’d been surprised in a good way by anyone? I couldn’t think of it. Despite the oozing liquid, despite his inability or willingness blow his own nose when necessary, and despite his short stature and slightly creepy child-voice, this miniature human wasn’t half bad.