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“You ran away from that garter snake like you had ants in your pants,” Aria barked.
“You saw that, huh? Were you watching me, or were you waiting for me?” she tossed back, then returned to the keys. She played a rolling arpeggio scale in the key of C to give the girl a second to craft a response.
C, E, G.
C, E, G.
C, E, A,
C, E, A.
She flowed through the rolling progression, playing the simple separated chords, allowing the notes to rise and fall in a rhythmic stream of sound. She didn’t have to see Aria’s face to know the wheels in the kid’s head were turning.
When she was that age, she’d been constantly sizing up a situation, and she could use a second herself to figure out what to say next. She’d be a part of this kid’s life—at least for the next sixty days. She had to come up with a game plan, and she had to do it quickly.
Landon, Tomás, and Bess would be back soon. This might be the only sliver of time for them to feel each other out without an audience.
She finished the piano progression, then rested her hands in her lap. Barely a second of silence had passed before Aria drummed her fingers on the beam.
Was she copying the arpeggio on the wood?
She didn’t have a chance to ask. A series of cracks and clunks replaced the gentle finger taps as the little girl traversed the high beam, then dropped like Spider-Man and hit the ground with a thump. Swooping in like she’d dismounted from a flying trapeze, the child studied her, then twisted her mouth into a scowl. “You married Uncle Landy with no pants on.”
Damn the internet.
“Pants can be overrated,” she replied with a shrug, keeping it casual.
Aria’s gaze dropped to the tray. “Did he marry you for your bonbons?”
This little hellion had no idea.
“Maybe, but there are worse reasons to get married. Do you want a bonbon?” she asked, studying the girl. Despite the raised by wolves look, the child had inherited Leighton and Landon’s symmetrically perfect features, but unlike her uncle, she had cornflower blue eyes like a prairie sky.
Aria crossed her arms. “I’ve got my own stash.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s see the goods.”
Aria lifted the lid to the Scrabble board game and huffed. “I’m down to six lime lollipops.”
“Ew,” Harper moaned, “those are the worst.”
“I’d eat a yellow before I’d eat green,” the kid lamented.
“And yellows suck, too,” she agreed.
“They totallysuck,” Aria replied, testing some salty language. The girl was doing her best to maintain an air of toughness, but she seemed more intrigued than angry.
And that had to count for something.
When she taught in-person piano lessons, it was rarely just her and the kid. A nanny or parent often lingered, tossing a suggestion here and there or chiding the child to pay attention or play better. There was no space to connect and get to know the kid without other adults intervening.
She glanced out the door. Neither Landon nor his parents were back.
Here goes nothing—or everything.
She slid over and made room for Aria to sit on the piano bench opposite the tray of chocolates. “Let’s see how many bonbons you can eat. I stole them, and I could use some help disposing of the evidence.”
The kid plopped onto the end of the bench and stared at the tray. “You stole this chocolate?”
