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“She is royalty.”

“Daddy says I’m his princess,” Mia explains very seriously.

“I can see that.”

She studies me for a moment, and I let her.

“Is Damiano in heaven now?”

I smile. She’s direct, and I love it. “He is.”

Mia cocks her head to the side. “But you can’t see him anymore?”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat.

“Not even for a visit in heaven?”

I shake my head.

Mia’s smile disappears, and for a moment she looks genuinely troubled. Then she lifts both arms toward me, and I understand that she wants a hug.

I crouch and bring my arms around her. She’s warm and smells like vanilla and bubblegum, and somehow this hug feels… healing.

“I’m sorry you can’t visit,” she whispers. “That’s not fair.”

I blink away tears as I pull back enough to look at her.

“It isn’t.”

She thinks about that for a moment.

“If only they had a phone up in heaven.” She shakes her little head, then turns back toward Jude, already moving on to the next thing only an eight-year-old can find desperately important.

Her words are both a knife and a balm to my soul.

I prefer this kind of honesty to a thousand nice quotes created only to make the ones using them feel like they’re helping.

And a phone in heaven would be fucking awesome!

“Nora.”

I turn toward the deeper voice and find Cas walking toward me with a baby balanced easily against one hip.

There’s something different about the oldest Hawthorne brother. He’s not loud like Ethan or intimidating like Dex. He’s still, but not like Jude either. His eyes move over me once, quick and observant, taking in more than he lets on. Sheriff, I remember. That makes sense.

The baby in his arms, however, is doing his best to destroy the serious image by chewing enthusiastically on the collar of his father’s shirt.

“Cas,” he says, holding out his free hand.

“Sheriff.”

One eyebrow goes up.

“Damiano told me things,” I explain.

That gets a laugh out of him. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“You should be.”