Page 45 of ICED
And I’d move mountains to keep it that way.
“All right, Lila,” I say as the swing slows, catching it gently with one hand. “That pigeon war wore you out yet?”
“Nope!” she grins. “But I want the pink slide now.”
She hops off and bolts toward the brightly coloured monstrosity on the far end of the playground. Maya starts to follow, but I catch her wrist.
“Let her go first,” I murmur. “She’s scoping it out. You can tell by the stance. Full toddler recon mode.”
Maya tilts her head, amused. “You have an entire classification system for playground surveillance?”
“Absolutely,” I say solemnly. “It’s the same one we use in penalty kills.”
That earns me a laugh, one of those low, rich ones that catches me square in the chest.
She glances down where my fingers are still lightly around her wrist. “Are you flirting with me via playground tactics?”
“I don’t know,” I say, cocking my head. “Is it working?”
Her smile curves sideways, but she doesn’t pull away. “I plead the fifth.”
“That’s American.”
“I’m adaptable.”
God help me, I like her so much it’s starting to hurt.
We walk side by side toward the slide, boots crunching over a patch of frost in the shadow of the climbing frame. I let my hand drift until the backs of our fingers are touching again. Testing. Inviting.
She doesn’t move away.
“You’re good with her,” she says, watching Lila attempt to bribe another kid into giving her a turn with a pink shovel.
“She’s easy to be good with,” I murmur. “She’s got your stubbornness and charm.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
I shoot her a look.
Maya raises her brows. “I am principled.”
“And allergic to asking for help.”
“I ask for help.”
“Do you?”
She looks up at me, chin tilted. “Did I not let you buy me pancakes and push my child on a swing?”
I lift my hands. “Point taken. I’ll update the scouting report.”
Her lips twitch, but there’s a glint of something serious behind her eyes. Not closed off, just cautious.
I get that. I respect it.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to peel back the layers a bit more.
We stay at the park until Lila’s fingers start to go pink. I drape my scarf over her tiny neck and she calls it a “Bear Wrap,” which makes Maya roll her eyes and mutter something about me being a terrible influence.
