Page 78 of Falling for Keeps

“You sure will,” she mutters.

I don’t even look back, because whatever she’s teasing me about is going way over my head. I probably don’t want to know why she’s saying that, anyway. I’m also not going to clock why I’m eager to get the door when it’s most likely an Amazon delivery.

Please don’t be Amazon.

I swing the door open and find Emma standing there in sweats and rumpled hair, her glasses perched on her nose and her attention squarely on me. “Hey.”

The air leaves my chest in a whoosh. “Hi.”

“I know this is weird.”

“It’s not,” I say quickly. Whatever’s going on, I want her to feel comfortable coming to us.

Emma lifts her hands, and that’s when I notice she’s holding…heads? With long hair?

“Is this a Halloween thing?” I ask.

“It’s a braiding thing.” She lowers the decapitated plastic heads. “I borrowed them from Sloan—you know, the hair stylist next door to my library? She had a few extras, but made me promise not to cut the hair. Can you promise not to cut the hair?”

“Sure. It’ll be easy since I’m still not sure what’s going on.”

“I have everything set up, but it’s not urgent. So whenever you have a free minute⁠—”

“He’s free now,” Mom calls from the kitchen.

Emma steps close enough that I get a whiff of apple while she leans around the door frame to see my meddling mother. “Hey, Sharon! How’s school going? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“Closer to being done.”

“Thank heavens.”

“I’ll keep an ear out for Penny if you two want to do whatever you’re doing with those things.”

Emma’s laugh is magical. “It’s not as weird as it looks.”

“I trust you,” Mom says.

“Well, I guess I’m free,” I tell her.

“I can’t wait to hear about how not weird this is,” Mom calls.

“If you wake up Penny, that’s on you.” I grin as I step outside and close the door behind me. “She wants me to have a social life.”

“Can you blame her? You were thrilled to find one of Penny’s friends today, weren’t you?”

For the first time since moving here, I pull back from the situation and look down on it with Emma’s borrowed wisdom. If my mom cares about me even a fraction of how much I care about my baby girl, she would be ecstatic to learn that I’m making friends, enjoying the community, finding my place here. Anything that makes me feel settled would feel like a win.

Because that’s absolutely how I feel about my child. Any signs she gives of being happy are like living water for me.

“I was happy about that, yeah. It feels like the first time I moved here and she was shoving Maven and me out the door to go fishing with the Walker boys.”

That one ended up in a marriage, too. Maybe she’s magic.

“Your mom loves you a lot.”

“She does,” I agree, looking both ways before crossing the street. “Want me to carry your creepy heads?”

“They’re pretty light.” She tosses one and catches it by the hair. When we reach her house, she holds the door open and I find two tripods set in front of the sofa. “I figured we should sit on the couch while we do this because that’s what you’ll probably be doing in real life.”