Page 79 of Personal Foul

I spread my hands. “Of course. I said I would, didn’t I?”

“You did. And you always keep your promises.”

Something about the way she says that catches me off guard. At one point I would’ve expected her to make such an observation sarcastically. But her voice is only sincere. No sarcasm to be found.

It’s true that I do my best to follow through on anything I say I’ll do. I didn’t realize that Charity had already picked up on that, though. Especially given our entire history up until last week, that’s not something I would’ve figured she’d give me much credit for. But the way she says it makes it sound like it’s something important to her. Admirable. Like I’ve successfully added something to the pros column.

She steps out of the way. “Come in, come in. Grace is excited you’re here.”

“Just Grace is excited, huh?” I step in close to her, intending to at least kiss her hello like I normally do, but she slips away, cutting her eyes to the tiny terror still hopping and squealing in the living room.

“No, not just Grace,” she murmurs, “but let’s not do the PDA thing in front of her, okay?”

“Gotcha.”

Charity holds out a hand to Grace, who grabs it and hops closer to me, her entire body vibrating with barely contained excitement. “Hi!” she shouts, jumping closer, her frilly pink dress swooshing all around her.

I crouch down so I’m on her level. “Hi, Grace. I’m Dylan. How are you?”

“Great! Yay! Let’s have a tea party!”

Charity laughs, and gestures for me to follow her. “I thought we’d do this in the kitchen since we have a special guest.”

“Yay! Yay! Yay!” Grace exclaims, releasing Charity’s hand to hop and run through the living room and into the kitchen. The round oak table is already set with plastic teacups at each place. There’s a pile of stuffed animals in one chair, with a cluster of different cups—one that matches the other three on the table, plus an assortment of other kiddie-themed plastic cups.

Grace is babbling and jumping, and I honestly can’t understand a word until she pulls out the chair opposite the stuffed animal pile and yells what I realize is my name. Her L’s are W’s, though, so it takes a few repetitions to realize that “Diwan” is Dylan.

“Is this my seat?” I ask, stepping up to the chair she’s pulled out.

Nodding emphatically, she slaps the seat a few times.

Holding in my laughter, I pull the chair out a little more and sit in it, giving her a solemn nod. “Thank you.”

“You wewcome!” She scampers to the chair to my left, which I notice has a booster seat, and climbs up. Charity makes sure she’s settled before moving to the chair on my other side and taking a seat.

To Grace she says, “Would you like to pour, or would you like me to pour?”

Holding my breath, I really hope the kid picks Charity, because if this is actual tea or liquid of any kind, I’d feel way more comfortable with the adult doing the honors.

“Me do it!” she shouts, lunging for the teapot in the middle of the table.

Rolling her lips between her teeth in a move I recognize as her way of holding in her laugh, Charity leans forward and nudges the plastic teapot closer to Grace. If it’s plastic, I’m assuming it at least doesn’t have anything hot in it. Could still be water or juice, though. I’m pretty sure Charity said they do that sometimes.

Teapot in hand, Grace hops out of her chair, and I hold my breath until I realize there’s no way there’s anything in the teapot.

Grace appears at my elbow, holding up the teapot. “Tea?”

“Oh thank you.” I pick up my teacup and hold it where she can reach it. She dutifully puts the spout of the teapot to the edge of my cup and “pours” my tea. Once she’s finished, I take a pretend sip and make a loud slurping sound. “Mmm! Delicious!”

Grace giggles and scampers around me to her aunt, where our exchange is repeated with the addition of Charity occasionally glancing at me and grinning.

I can see why she likes this kid. I mean, I’d assume you generally feel positively about your nieces and nephews, but this little girl is beyond cute with her frilly dress and glittery nail polish and tiny plastic tea set.

“Thank you,” Charity mouths to me once Grace has finished pouring her pretend tea and gone around to fill up the cups in front of her stuffed guests.

“Of course,” I murmur, setting my cup back on my saucer. Like I could tell her no at this point anyway. Even if this were the worst thing I could imagine doing—which is impossible since Charity is here—I’d do it anyway. For her. Because she asked.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

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