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“How do you do that thing with your brows?” she asked, wiggling her finger at him. “Chris does it too and I can never figure out how to do it. Do you practice in the mirror or something?” His face tightened, but he took a deep breath.
“Chris?” he asked, his voice level.
“Hm? Oh, my brother.”
“The one in the mafia-cartel-FBI?” She nodded, leveling him with a look.
“And don’t you forget it, buddy.”
“I won’t. Now, what do you want to eat?” She hummed, her fingers tapping on the table as she thought.
“Grilled cheese? Extra pickles.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Grilled cheese,” she repeated a bit louder. Poor man was probably hard of hearing. It came with age. “Extra pickles. Did you get that?”
“Oh, I got it,” he said in a low voice. “It’s just the combination I wasn’t sure if I heard correctly.” She gasped.
“You’ve never had grilled cheese with pickles?”
“Can’t say I have,” he laughed.
“You haven't lived until you’ve had that,” she said. “You can try some of mine. But just a bite.” His mouth tucked up in the corner.
“Just a bite,” he agreed. “Color, pretty girl.”
She put the tip of the crayon on the paper, but stopped herself and looked at him again. He was staring intently at her, his face soft.
“Shouldn’t we talk?” she asked quietly, and he shrugged.
“I want you to be comfortable, and if you’re not comfortable with talking, this is fine.”
Okay. That was sweet.
“But I want to talk,” she said. “Well, I don’t. I want you to.”
“Me?” She bobbed her head happily. “What do you want me to talk about?” She twisted her lips to the side as she thought.
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Smokey and the Bandit.” Her head reared back. “What?”
“I’ve never heard of that.” His mouth fell open.
“You’ve never—we’re having a movie night soon, little girl. I have to teach you some culture.” She giggled, shaking her head, trying to ignore the warmth that settled in her at the way he said little girl. “What’s yours?”
“Twilight.” He snorted. “What?”
“That can’t be your favorite movie.”
“Well, it is. I watch it on repeat. It’s the only thing that ever plays on my TV.”
“Yeah? You don’t watch anything else? Not even cartoons?” he prompted, leaning forward.
“I mean, yeah. I watch cartoons. I’m not a psychopath.”
