“The kind of trouble I won’t be able to talk my way out of.”
My smile mirrors his and our lingering gaze is only broken when Ava comes running out of the house holding the snake with George on her heel.
9
LEVI
If there’s evera silver lining on Ava running toward me holding a snake, it’s that it provides me with an excuse to think about something other than Arlo’s lips, his almost dimples, and the irresistible pull I feel toward him.
“Daddy, do you want to hold Rosie?” Ava says, stretching her arms out to me.
I get up from the stool like it’s on fire. “Hell no. I’ll pay ten bucks into the swear jar if you take that damn thing away from me.”
She has the good sense to give the snake back to George, who takes it back inside.
“Daddy…” she says, holding both her hands behind her back and giving me a smile she knows always breaks my resolve.
Oh no. Dear god, please, no snakes.
“It’s okay to be scared of snakes, you know? Gigi said only really brave people can touch them.”
“Uh-huh…” I say. From the corner of my eye, I see Arlo pretending not to pay attention to my exchange with Ava.
“I’m not going to ask you for a snake. You can chill.”
I let out a breath.
Wait. That was too easy.
“What’s the deal?” I ask.
She shrugs and then states. “I can come play with Gigi again.”
I don’t know where she learned her negotiation skills, but it’s certainly not from me. God help anyone that crosses her path when she grows up.
I laugh. “I’m sure we can arrange that with George’s dad.”
She climbs up on the stool and rests her elbows on the table.
“Are you nearly finished, Arlo?” she asks.
“Almost, sweetie. I just need to attach this strap…aaaand done.” Arlo lifts up the wings to inspect them. I’m not sure what’s more mesmerizing, the way he’s meticulously checking his work or the work itself.
The way he dyed the fabric gives it texture, and the colors look so vivid that if I didn’t know better, I’d say the wings are borrowed from a real-life giant ladybug.
“Time for the big test,” Arlo says.
Ava holds her hands tight over her chest and squeals as Arlo helps me put the wings on.
“What do you say, Jellybean? Am I a suitable ladybug?” I ask her.
She jumps off the stool like she’s got springs on her shoes.
“You’re a daddybug,” she says.
I lift her up in the air. “So I can’t be a ladybug? Even with my new wings?”
Her laughter fills me up with so much joy I forget where I am for a moment. I hold her in my arms and give her a raspberry on the side of her neck, which is a ticklish point for her. More giggles ensue until she wiggles out of my hold onto the floor and runs back toward the house.
