Page 9 of Delayed Penalty

“You have a mom?”

That same ache from earlier lets its presence be known. This kid, who is likely around seven or so,shouldn’t be surprised people have parents becausesheshould have parents. It’s heartbreaking to know that isn’t the case.

“I do,” I tell her. “And she makes thebestdesserts.”

Her lips twist to the side, her brows scrunching together. “Then how come you’re here buying George’s cookies?”

“Because I’m going to dinner at her house tonight, and she asked me to bring dessert, and because I’m a grown-up with a job”—well, not technically anymore—“I don’t have much time to make cookies. Besides, I’m not very good in the kitchen, so it’s probably safer for everyone.”

Flora nods like it’s all making sense now, and her uncle makes a noise. I narrow my eyes at him but don’t say anything since little ears are present. If it were just the two of us, I’d let him know what an ass I think he is. I mean seriously, who getsthatupset over coffee?

“Well, as fun as this has been…” The hockey player rises back to his full height, and holy hell is he tall. I mean, sure, I’m only five foot four, so damn near everyone seems tall to me, but he looks extra big.

And strong.

And muscly.

Andhot. Seriously hot. Like “stop traffic” kind of attractive.

He also doesn’t seem to like me. A pity. I bet we could have a whole lot of fun together.

Just like you had fun with Marco, right, Quinn?

I pack the thought away for another day. It’s still too fresh and a wound I don’t want to deal with right now, especially not when I still have to face my family tonight.

“We should really get going before it starts raining harder out there.” He grabs Flora’s shoulder. “You ready?”

She nods. He tugs her along, and I watch them go, my heart aching still. The girl looks so sad. It makes me wonder what kind of scary things the world has brought her way in her short life.

I’ve started sorting through the cookies once more when I hear the squeak of shoes against the floor.

“Flora, what are you…”

There’s a tug on my hand. I look down, and Flora is staring up at me with those sad blue eyes.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Did you try putting love in your cookies? That’s what Mrs. Bess does. She told me so herself.”

I smile. It’s impossible not to with this cute-as-a-button child telling me to putlovein my cookies to make them taste better.

“You know, I think I heard something about that once upon a time. Maybe Ishouldtry it out.”

I send her a wink, and if I’m not imagining it, the corners of her mouth twitch atinybit. I don’t even know this kid, but something tells me that’s a major accomplishment.

“I bet it would make them amazing, just like Mrs. Bess’s cookies are.”

“They are pretty great, aren’t they?” Flora nods, her eyes sparking just the tiniest bit. “Well, thank you for the tip. I’ll have to give it a go. Who knows? Maybe my cookies will be better than Mrs. Bess’s.”

She scrunches her nose up, then shakes her head. “They won’t.”

Her uncle coughs out a laugh but quickly recovers. “Flora, that’s not very nice.”

She looks up at him sheepishly. “Sorry, Uncle Adam.”

He lets out a deep rumble. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. TellQuinn.”

His thick, dark brows pull together when he says my name, and I can’t help but smile. Man sure can hold a grudge over some coffee.

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