“Good. I prefer to know when I’m being evaluated by the people who matter.”
“That was annoyingly smooth.”
“I’m trying to make a strong first impression.”
“You’re meeting a fourteen-year-old recovering from surgery, not negotiating a merger.”
“I am far more efficient at the latter.”
I shook my head, then opened the door before I could lose my nerve.
Sophie was propped up in bed with far too many pillows, the television on low in the background and a half-finished cup of Jell-O balanced precariously on the tray table in front of her. She looked up the second we walked in, and whatever tiredness had been dragging at her face vanished.
Her eyes went straight to Pietro.
More specifically, to the cane in his hand.
“Oh my God,” she said, before either of us could speak. “You look so cool.”
Pietro stopped.
I watched the words hit him in real time, the slight straightening of his spine, the tiny flicker on his face that was easy to miss. But I knew him now. I saw it.
And I would have bet a great deal that very few people in his life had ever looked at that cane first and called it cool.
Sophie, oblivious to the significance of what she had just done, pointed at it with open delight. “Is it silver? It looks like something out of a movie. Like if a hot villain had taste.”
I choked on a laugh.
Pietro, to his credit, recovered almost immediately. “A hot villain?”
Sophie shrugged. “You’re wearing a black coat and glaring like you’ve banned joy. It’s a vibe.”
“I’ll take that as praise.”
“It was.” Her gaze dropped to the cane again, then lifted to his face. “I won’t need the double crutches anymore once PT signs off, but they said I might need a cane on bad days.” Shewrinkled her nose. “I was sort of hoping I could at least make it look cute.”
Pietro stepped further into the room then, slower now but not cautious, more like he was calibrating himself to her instead of the other way around.
“Cute is achievable,” he said. “Though personally, I’d recommend elegant and intimidating.”
Sophie’s whole face lit up. “Exactly.”
He inclined his head once, as if they had just reached an important diplomatic understanding. “If you want, I can have one designed for you.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Like custom?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God!” She looked at me with complete betrayal. “Emily, where did you even find him?”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. “In the library, actually.”
“That is the least helpful answer you could have given me.”
