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“I offered. I got no skin in this game.”
“I want her to like you.”
The doorbell buzzed.
Savannah released a high, fretful noise that was totally unlike her. I bit the bullet, taking the decision out of her hands by electing to be the responsible adult in this situation.
“Leave it with me,” I drawled, heading into the living room. I moved over to Kat and tousled her hair just because I knew it’d piss her off.
She growled under her breath. “You spent ages making it look like this.”
“I made it, I can break it,” I teased.
Her glower would have curdled milk. “I bet Conor can do French braids better than you.”
“What makes you think that? The guy’s never been around little girls in his life. He’s from a family of boys, remember?”
“He gave me his cell number so I’m going to ask him if he can do it.”
I grinned at how proud she sounded. “Do you know how many people have that number?”
“He told me that only his family had it.” Her smile turned shy. “That means I’m his family now, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” I tugged on her ponytail. “Ask him about the braids in person. Always corner people face-to-face when you want them to do something for you that they won’t like. Life lesson there, kiddo.
“Plus, we want him to do them for when you start taking part in competitions. He can be the one who handles that. It’ll stop you caterwauling at me when the braid drops out when you’re doing a jump.”
Her gaze flickered as if she were making a mental note of my life lesson, then the door buzzed again. “Who’s that?”
“Conor’s godfather.”
“More family!”
“You’ve got it coming out of your ears now, haven’t you?”
Her smile turned un-Katina-ly shy. “We do, don’t we?”
Her correction had me squeezing her shoulder. “We do.” Ducking down to bump my lips to the crown of her head, I mumbled, “I’m glad you’re happy about it, sweetheart.”
“I just want them to like me.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“Lyra doesn’t.”
The doorbell rang for the third time. Impatient, much?
“One minute!” I called out. To her, I said, “She doesn’t like that you talk so much, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you. It means talking is hard for her. It means she’s shy. It means that it’s not as easy for her to formulate words as it is for you.
“Her challenges are not your challenges,” I reminded her softly.
Though she bit her lip, she repeated, “Her challenges are not my challenges. It’s okay, Star. You can get the door.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Another squeeze to her shoulder was my parting farewell, but her sweaty fingers caught my hand, though, and she patted it.
