Page 115 of Connectio
She frowns. “Then why aren’t you singing?”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “I can’t sing.”
“Sure you can. You just open your mouth and say the words in your best voice.”
Gah! My heart! What a sweetie.
I scrunch my face. “My best voice isn’t very good.”
She pouts, and it tugs perfectly on my guilt strings.
“Okay. I’ll sing it with you, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
“I’d never do that.” Charlotte holds up her little finger. “Pinkie swear.”
We lock pinkies then sing the rest of the song, joining in with Ariel as she sings about wanting to be a part of the human world, and it strikes me that, even in an innocent kids’ Disney movie, we tend to want what we don’t or can’t have. We create an ideal of the perfect life and strive to achieve it, all the while forgetting true perfection is what we make of it. It’s human nature, I guess. Well… in Ariel’s case, it’s mermaid nature.
Giggling when the song ends and Sebastian the crab crashes into the scene, I almost jump a mile when Will whispers into my ear, “Why do you have a fork in your hair?”
“Jeeesusss.” I cover my heart with my hand and turn to find him sitting on the sofa behind me. “You scared the crap out of me.”
His eyes are dreamy, his smile even dreamier.
“What?” I have to move away; he’s too damn sexy.
Grasping the handle of the fork, I comb my hair and add, “It’s not a fork.”
“Looks like a fork to me.”
“It’s a dinglehopper, Will,” Charlotte says.
“A what?”
“A dingle— Never mind.” I slide it out of my hair then glance around, noticing Alexis and Carly are no longer in the room. “Where is everyone?”
“In the studio.”
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realise. I was just watching—”
“The Little Mermaid?”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Yeah.”
He licks his lips, gives me his sex-eyes, then takes a swig of his beer. “Cute.”
“Don’t,” I say, pointing at him as I stand up. “I know what you’re doing.”
Will chuckles then scruffs Charlotte’s hair. “Thanks for looking after Libby while I was gone.”
“Anytime. I like her. We’re friends.”
Biting back my laughter, I hand her the fork. “Thank you for lending me your dinglehopper.”
She stands up and gives me a hug. “Keep it. Mum won’t mind.”
“Really?” I’m not about to take their cutlery home, so I go along with her beautiful gesture so that I don’t offend or upset her. “I’ve always wanted one of my own. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” She fiddles with her fingers and twists her body from side to side, seemingly proud of herself. And so she should be—she’s such a delightful child.
