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She tilts her head and then whispers to Nutbuster, “What do you think?” She leans the other way, acting like the dog is whispering to her, and then nods. To me, she says, “Deal . . . with the caveat that the tiara is purple and real. Not one of those plastic ones.”
“Are you negotiating with me?” I can’t help but laugh. She is her father’s daughter. “And how do you know the word ‘caveat’? You’re eight, not eighty.”
She shrugs casually, but her smile gives it away that she’s proud her vocabulary surprised me. “I listen.”
“Okay, deal. One purple, real tiara for your absolute bestest behavior.” I reach behind me, and though we can’t officially shake, she grabs my pinkie finger with hers to pinkie promise.
“Can Peanut Butter have a tiara too?” she adds.
“Pushing it,” I warn. But when she crosses her arms over her chest, I acquiesce. “If you’re extra-extra-extra good, I’ll get him one too.”
She hugs the beleaguered dog and he licks her face. With a smile, I try to think of a way to spin this, but Luna interrupts my whirling mind. “Keep it simple, stupid. K-I-S-S, just like our background story. She’s your niece that you needed to watch. It makes you seem like a family guy the same way” —she drops her voice to a whisper— “a wife does.”
She has a point. I nod, visualizing the introduction and how Elena might respond. “Okay, KISS, got it,” I echo vacantly.
Before I forget, I call Cameron back and leave another message. “Hey man, Mom’s a no-go for babysitting tonight, but Grace is with me. We’ll be out a little late, so she can stay at my place. I’ll bring her back tomorrow or Sunday, whatever’s good for you. No worries, we’ll just hang out and play the Royal Family because she’s already talked me into a tiara.”
When I hang up, Luna is looking at me strangely. Before I can find out why, Gracie asks, “Did you hear that, Peanut Butter? We’re having a sleepover at Uncle CJ’s!”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
LUNA
“We don’t talk about . . .” Grace sings and then waits for me to join in.
“Bruno . . . no, no, no!” I finish with a big flourish, having fun singing the entire Disney repertoire with her. Grace has an arm thrown over Peanut Butter, happily singing to him in full-blown Mariah Carey mode despite his howls begging us to stop. Grace explained it’s his way of singing along with us, but I have serious doubts about that.
The little girl is an absolute hoot. She’s infinitely better than either of her uncles, and the drive that had seemed extraordinarily long before has flown by with her constant questions, song requests, and storytelling.
Surprisingly, Carter has had a faint ghost of a smile on his lips the whole time. He’s even joined in on the fun, sort of, answering some of her questions with playful answers of his own. He doesn’t go so far as singing, but I’m pretty sure I heard him humming. He’s so uptight and work-focused that I would’ve thought he’d be annoyed by a child’s antics. But my assumption was obviously wrong.
“We’re almost there. Ready?” Carter asks us.
“I’ll be super-duper good, Uncle CJ.” Grace holds up her hand as she makes the solemn vow.
I shoot a smile at Grace and mimic her move. “Me too. Super-duper good.”
“Okay,” Carter says easily, but his fingers haven’t stopped nervously tapping on the steering wheel. We pull up in front of a pair of tall gates that are already open. “Elena’s expecting us. Showtime.”
On the other side of the gates, there’s a long and winding drive leading to the front of the house. Though it’s not like one I’ve ever seen.
“Is that a house for one person?” Grace exclaims, pressing her nose and hands to the window. “You could fit my whole school in there!”
“Right?” I whisper. It’s more like a mansion or estate, or whatever’s bigger than that, and my heart begins thumping in my chest. I don’t belong here. No dress is enough armor to make me fit in at a place like this.
Carter parks and comes around to open my door like a gentleman. Taking my hand, he helps me out, and the touch of our hands reminds me of the role I’m playing. I look up into his eyes, and there’s an instant where I forget that I’m mad at him and this feels like a date.
Grace and Peanut Butter explode out of the car with a whoop of laughter, shattering the moment. “Let’s go, Peanut Butter!”
The dog heads straight for a pair of meticulously pruned rose bushes by the front steps and lets loose with a long stream of pee. I swear I hear him sigh in relief.
“No, bad dog!” Carter hisses, but there’s no stopping the yellow waterfall hitting the pristine flowers, the leaves flapping backward with the force of the golden shower.
