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“That would be awesome.”
“So you put your arm around my waist so you could steal my wallet?”
“Either that or I was overwhelmed with affection for how wonderful you are.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I shake my head in amusement. “I am such a sucker.”
“Kind of,” she agrees. “You are also begging to have your wallet stolen. Do you get your pocket picked all the time?”
“Not yet.”
“I am disappointed in my fellow pickpockets then. They’ve been slacking. Number one, zip up your purse when you’re in public. Number two, wear it cross-body, not dangling over your shoulder like that.”
I stop and do what she says. She shakes her head at me.
“Okay, now what?” I ask her. “Movie. Museum. Candy store?”
“Can we go to Hudson’s?” she asks.
I look at her in surprise. Hudson’s is a mega-fancy Manhattan department store. I couldn’t afford a pair of socks there, and if Summer’s mother is working three jobs, then neither can Summer.
Then I realize why she wants to go there.
“So you could pick up a few five finger discounts?” I arch an eyebrow at her.
She meets my gaze challengingly. “Maybe.”
“There will be no shoplifting on my watch. Sorry.” I shake my head.
She groans loudly. “You are the death of fun.”
“Movies. Museums. Candy. Ice cream. These are your options.”
She scowls at me. “Fine. Since you’re not letting me have any fun, I want all of the above.”
“I don’t know if we have time for all three today, but whatever don’t get to today, we can do next time we meet up. And yes, I will be there at the next meetup. I promise.”
“Whatever,” she says indifferently, but I get the feeling that she does not have much trust left in her little body, and it would be a very, very big deal to her if I broke my promise. Which I will never do.
“We’ll go to the candy shop first,” I tell her, and we start walking again.
As we do, my phone rings.
I reach down to answer it, and there’s this tiny part of me that thinks it will be Paxton calling with a groveling apology for his behavior. I don’t know; I guess after losing both of my parents, I am cautious about who I let in at all, and I just don’t want to think that I misjudged him that badly.
It’s not him, though. It’s my sister.
“Hello, Row-boat,” I say to her as I answer. “I can’t talk long. I’m hanging out with a minor and teaching her how to do felonies.”
“She is not,” Summer yells indignantly into the phone. “I’m the one doing the teaching.”
“Oh, the mentoring?” my sister says. “This sounds fascinating. And alarming. What have you learned so far?’
“I’ve learned that Summer is a genius level pickpocket.”
“Oh, dear.”
“We are now going to redirect her energy to something more appropriate. I will call you later and give you a full report,” I tell her.
