Like the kind of thing she would say about a horse but not herself.
“She doesn’t respect them,” I say.
“No,” he agrees, looking toward her again. “I’m beginning to see that.”
“She’ll be mad if you boss her around.”
“I imagine so.”
“She gets this wrinkle between her eyebrows when people tell her what to do.”
“I noticed.”
“And sometimes she uses a very polite voice when she’s really angry.”
His eyes flick back to mine, and for a second, I think he might laugh.
“I noticed that too.”
I nod, satisfied that he’s paying attention.
Good.
He’ll need to.
“You can’t let her forget about herself,” I say. “She forgets all the time.”
Something soft moves across his face. Sad, maybe. Or careful. I’m not sure.
“I’ll do my best,” he says.
I study him for a long moment.
“Okay,” I say finally.
“Okay?”
“You can date my mama.”
His brows lift. “I have your permission?”
“For now.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“I know.”
He smiles then.
“Livy!”
Mama’s voice carries from across the yard.
I turn and see her waving me over, holding out the radio I forgot at the welcome table.
Oops.
“I gotta go,” I tell him. “I’m very important today.”
