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That first cherry chocolate kiss had changed the trajectory of her life.
“What are the light and dark brown parts for?” she asked, touching the segments with smiley faces.
The girl grinned, and her whole face lit up. “Bonbons, of course. They’re our favorites, right, Uncle Landy?”
“They are. I don’t think we could live without them.”
She looked up at him and found him glassy-eyed. “You don’t?”
He shook his head. “You must know how crazy Aria and I are about bonbons.”
“I think I do,” she answered and blinked back tears.
She wasn’t one for becoming a blubbering mess, but the sweetness factor of Aria’s scale and Landon’s display of devotion spoke to the kernel of hope in her chest that yearned to be loved and wanted.
“The dark section is for dark chocolate, which is okay chocolate, but not super-duper delicious chocolate. It gets a happy face. But I like the light brown ones better. The ones with caramel and a little bit of salt. That’s why it’s on the end with a super-duper happy face.”
“Those are my favorite. I’ve loved them for as long as I can remember.”
And there was something else she loved—two things, to be exact. She’d felt it with every breath she took.
“When I met you, Aunt Harper, I was here,” Aria continued, touching the green frowny face section.
“Where are you now on your Likert scale?” she asked.
A sassy smirk bloomed on the child’s lips. “To find out, you have to open the envelope.”
The envelope.
Carefully, she untucked the flap and removed the rectangular contents. The first sheet had a picture of an airplane withPassenger Aria Paige-Grantwritten in blue crayon next to a green, white, and red flag. The child printedfrom Denver to Italyin pencil. She moved the top sheet to the back of the slim stack and read the information printed on the next sheet.
Passenger Uncle Landy.
There was one sheet left to view. She slid Landon’s ticket to the back of the pile. With trembling hands, she peered at the last ticket.
Passenger Nanny-Aunt Harper. She doesn’t play the harp. She plays the piano.
She chuckled at Aria’s description, and her heart swelled.
They weren’t leaving without her.
“Oops, I forgot to do something,” the child said and reached into her pocket. Producing the tiny piano eraser, Aria erased the wordnanny. “You can be just my aunt. I feel like this when I think about you being just my aunt,” Aria said and tapped the light brown square.
“I like being just your aunt,” she replied, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“I typed out what I wanted to say in my special reader font on my tablet, then copied it onto the tickets,” Aria reported. “I had my friends double-check my writing at recess. Phoebe, Oscar, and Sebastian said I got every letter right.”
“You did,” she answered as a few droplets splashed on the child-made ticket. She checked the sky, but there wasn’t a cloud to be found.
“Those are happy tears, H,” a voice called—Penny’s voice.
“My friends are over there with their dads and uncles and soon-to-be-moms and soon-to-be-aunts,” Aria explained and waved toward their friends, standing near the parking lot. She tapped her chin. “We’re kind of a cool bunch, aren’t we? Like mishmash families.”
“We sure are,” she eked out, emotion clogging her throat as she glanced toward her girls.
Penny, Charlotte, and Libby held up three Cupid Bakery boxes.
Aria did a happy dance. “They remembered to bring the bonbon snacks.”
