Page 84 of Best Served Cold

She glances up at me, her eyes huge. “We won ten bucks!”

I laugh as she gets up on her bed and starts jumping around, clutching the winning lotto ticket in her hand. Her hair dances around her face, and her joy is infectious. Ten bucks. Less than what I paid for two of them, but totally fucking worth it for this. I’d spend hundreds to see her this happy.

“Come on,” she urges, reaching down to pull me up with her.

“I’d rather break your bed for a different reason,” I say with a grin.

“I might take you up on that,” she says in a singsong as she keeps dancing around.

The last two tickets are losers, but it’s hard to care. We’re still riding high from the ten-dollar win. Sophie tosses all the losers in the trash and then makes a big show of attaching the lucky ticket to the metallic side of her desk with a smiling-face magnet. It seems like a good note to end on, as much as I don’t want this night to end. But it’s time.

“I’ve gotta go,” I say, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “But first, I really, really want to know which ABBA song you love so much you got that poster.”

She scrunches her nose. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You did just dance on your bed after winning ten dollars off a lottery ticket. I think embarrassment flew out the window long ago.”

She swats my arm playfully but then holds onto it, her fingers wrapping around my bicep. “You have such incredibly nice arms.”

“Stop trying to distract me.”

She sighs. “Fine. It’s ‘I Have a Dream.’”

Not a dance song, then. A wistful song for my Pollyanna.

“Here I was thinking you were about to say ‘Dancing Queen.’” I stroke her hair with the gentlest of touches, feeling a tenderness toward her that surprises me. “I can’t make fun of you for that. I like your dreams.”

She smiles at me. “It’s a bit lame, but it used to make me feel better when I was…you know…”

When she was struggling. I’d like to ask her why, but it’s her secret to keep or share. “It’s entirely lame,” I say, leaning in to kiss her head again, “but it’s also cute. Goodnight, Sophie.”

I get to my feet, feeling her watch me. Liking it.

“I’m pretending you’re definitely going to make yourself a sandwich downstairs.”

“I probably will.”

“When am I going to see you again?”

“When do you want to? We can spend our ten dollars like high rollers.”

She beams at me. “I’d like that. But can we go see Emil?”

I nod slowly, trying to figure out how I feel about that. I’m not totally sure. I don’t want to lie to the kid, so I’ll have to tell him she’s just a friend—no need to mentionwith benefits—who offered to help us out.

Her smile is slipping, and I definitely don’t want that to happen, so I say, “Sure. They have him walk the dog on weekend mornings, so we might be able to catch him at the parktomorrow. I usually hang out with an extra guitar so we can get in some playing. It’s the only way he gets to practice these days.”

“You’ll let me come?”

“Yes, light of my life. I’ll even play a song for you.”

I’m halfway out the door when she calls my name. When I look back, she’s holding the pick out to me. “You forgot this.”

And I do something that surprises me. I say, “You keep it, Pollyanna. I want you to have it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

SOPHIE

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