Page 34 of Double Fault

Damn right they are. She won’t find me arguing with her about that.

While I finish up my breakfast, Maddie yammers on about anything and everything, mouth moving a mile a minute. I’m still chewing the last bite of waffle when she asks, “Can we go now?”

“I need to clean up first.”

“Fine.” Her shoulders sag, but she hops up and takes my plate over to the table by the door for housekeeping to pick up.

I wipe the table down with a wet washcloth, then sit to lace up my sneakers. “All right, girlie. Let’s find some nail polish.”

According to Google, there’s a drug store a couple of blocks away, so we opt to walk. Noah might chew me out over it later, but a three-minute Uber ride seems ridiculous.

“When do I have to start my school stuff?” Maddie asks as we wait to cross the street.

She already knows, but I respond patiently nevertheless.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoes, straightening her shoulders. “Can’t wait.”

“Do you like school?”

Mouth puckered, she tilts her head one way, then the other. “It’s okay. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it either.”

“I always loved school. It was my safe place.”

She looks up at me with a questioning gaze. “Your safe place?”

“Mhm.” When the crosswalk light illuminates, I take her hand and lead her across the street.

“What does that mean?”

On the sidewalk once again, I peer down at her. Sometimes I forget how different my childhood was from most.

“My parents weren’t great. At school, I knew I was taken care of.”

It was my escape from the constant yelling, and while I was there, I knew I’d get at least one meal in my belly.

“That sucks.”

“Hey, I’m still here, aren’t I? And I’m doing great.” I give her shoulder a squeeze.

We enter the drugstore, the whirr of the air conditioning music to my ears, and between one blink and the next, Maddie takes off running down the nearest aisle.

“Maddie,” I scold, going after her. “You can’t just run away from me.”

She’s not listening, though, as she settles in front of a display of neon colors.

“This one would be pretty on you.” She holds out a highlighter shade of pink.

It’s a shade I’d never in a million years pick for myself, but I smile as I take it from her. “You’re right. Which one do you like for yourself?”

She twists her lips back and forth, studying the display, then peers back at the one in my hand. “That one would be pretty on me too. We can match.”

Warmth blooms in my chest. Her dad might drive me crazy, but this little girl is impossible not to care about.

“Perfect. Then we’ll match.” I pluck a pack of cuticle sticks from the shelf and a small bottle of nail polish remover. “Why don’t you get a basket?” I nod to the stack in my line of sight. “We need snacks too.”

Grinning, she darts toward the entrance. Half a second later, she sprints back to me.

---