Page 71 of The Broken Heart Playlist
Her face lights up. “For me? Really?”
“Really.”
She rips off the wrapping paper and gasps. Gideon has gifted her with a red T-shirt and a lanyard with LISSET on in big, bold letters.
“You helped Uno get ready for story hour, so now you’re officially a Reading Dog volunteer, like me.”
Lisset immediately slips the T-shirt on over her clothes and loops the lanyard around her neck. “Mom, I have a job!”
“You do, Lis,” I say, my throat tight. “A very important one. And you are totally up for the task.”
“This is the BEST present ever!” she exclaims. “Thank you, Gideon.”
“My pleasure.” He kneels so he’s at eye-level with her. “Now part of being a volunteer handler is to practice reading with the dogs.”
She gazes at him, silent.
“It would only be a page or two, but it’s how Uno continues to be so skilled at what he does. I could also really use the help. What do you think?”
I’m holding my breath, waiting for her answer.
Gideon is acting casual, but I know him well enough by now to pick up on the tension in his jaw. He’s as hopeful as I am.
Lisset gnaws her bottom lip, taking her time thinking it through.
We don’t rush her.
“Just a page or two?” she asks.
“That’s all,” he confirms.
She fingers the lanyard around her neck, clearly torn. “Okay,” she agrees at last.
“Great.” Gideon holds his hand up for a breezy high-five, as if this isn’t at all a momentous occasion.
“Thank you again for the present, Gideon. See you later,” Lisset calls out and disappears inside the house.
I bite my knuckle to contain my excitement. “You did it,” I whisper.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautions. “She might still balk at the last minute.”
“But she said yes. That’s huge!”
“It is huge,” he agrees. “I just wish we understood what caused her to dislike reading in the first place. Hopefully, though, we can get her to fall in love with it again.”
Before I second-guess myself, I find myself asking him, “Do you want to hang out with us Saturday night? Maybe watch a movie?”
A slow smile steals over his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
On Saturday, Gideon pitches up at our house holding a bulging bag, the contents of which I can’t see because it’s one of those insulated shopping bags that zip shut. I lead him to the kitchen where he stops abruptly, gazing in horror at the platter on the counter. “What’s that?”
I glance at the cut-up sticks of carrot, celery, and red peppers surrounding a pretty bowl of hummus. Isn’t it obvious? “Movie snacks.”
“No, no, no.” He can’t stop shaking his head. “Those aren’t movie snacks. Where’s your sweet stuff?”
“I’ve got some frozen grapes. And there’s tons of fruit in the fridge.”
He deposits the bag onto the counter. “Just curious, have you ever had a movie night before?”
