Page 87 of Glitched Play

His mouth twitches. “Unfortunately.”

I close my laptop halfway. “Did you get Witley a gift?”

He looks almost offended. “Yes.”

“Of course you did.”

“Her birthday is today.”

“I know, but most people realize they need a gift the day before. Maybe the morning of if they’re brave.”

“I bought it in April.”

I stare at him. “It’s August.”

“She mentioned dinosaurs.”

“In April?”

“Yes.”

“And you remembered?”

“She said triceratops are superior because they have defensive architecture.”

I blink.

Witt says it like this is a perfectly normal sentence uttered by a four-year-old.

“So what did you get her?”

“A buildable dinosaur habitat with magnetic terrain pieces, a triceratops nesting area, and sound integration.”

My heart does something soft and inconvenient.

Of course he did. Of course Witt O’Ryan, billionaire gaming genius and emotionally confusing boss-roommate, kiss-me-once boss, bought his four-year-old niece a dinosaur gift four months early because she made one comment about defensive architecture. He probably has every family birthday memorized, along with favorite colors, allergies, preferred snacks, and possibly Social Security numbers. Not because he’s nosy, but because noticing is what he does when he loves people.

He just doesn’t call it love.

He probably calls it data retention.

“That’s really sweet,” I say.

His eyes flick up. “It’s age appropriate.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s educational.”

“Obviously.”

“And she likes dinosaurs.”

I smile. “Witt.”

“What?”

“It’s sweet.”