Lucia hesitated and then nodded back. “Okay.”
After that, everything wrapped up pretty quickly. Mrs. Turner made an awkward exit with Megan, who still lookedembarrassed, eyes fixed on her shoes. Ms. Anderson thanked me again, obviously relieved things hadn’t escalated further. And Lucia, well, she was quiet.
As we walked out into the afternoon sun she matched her steps to mine, clearly lost in thought. It wasn’t awkward exactly, but I felt like there was something I should say. Small talk wasn’t exactly my specialty, especially not with a kid, but I gave it a shot anyway.
“For what it’s worth,” I said finally, glancing down at her, “I actually think the blue paint adds something.”
“Adds something?”
“A cool pop of color,” I clarified, shrugging slightly. “Might even make it stand out more. Your grandma might like it.”
She tilted her head skeptically. “It was supposed to be just yellow and pink.”
“Well, now it’s yellow, pink, and blue. Probably more valuable too since it’s got a good story.”
Lucia stayed quiet for another second or two, kicking gently at a rock on the sidewalk. Then, almost grudgingly, she nodded. “Maybe. Abuela likes colorful things.”
“Then I’d say it’s perfect.”
She glanced up at me again, considering. She didn’t smile—not fully—but she looked less annoyed at least. Coming from Lucia, I figured that counted as progress.
We walked a little further in silence, heading toward the car. She kept glancing at me sideways, clearly still assessing whether I could be trusted long-term. Couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t exactly practiced at earning the approval of six-year-olds.
I cleared my throat as we reached the curb, then I unlocked the car and opened the front passenger side. “Go ahead.”
She stared at me like I’d just suggested she drive. “I’m not old enough to sit in the front seat.”
I blinked. “Right. Of course.”
She sighed loudly, as if she’d already had this conversation before, probably with adults far more competent at this kind of thing. I closed the door, circled around, and opened the back one. She climbed in without saying anything and buckled up.
As we started driving, silence filled the car. I watched her carefully through the mirror. It was tilted up so I couldn’t see myself but could still see her.
Lucia stared intently out the window, tapping her fingers against her knee. I realized with mild discomfort I’d never spent time alone with a child before.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked suddenly.
What was it with De La Vega women and their damn colors?
“Yellow,” I admitted.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s boring.”
“What’s yours then?” I asked.
“Rainbow.”
I glanced at her through the mirror. “But ... that’s more than one color.”
“I know,” she said smugly, like I’d walked into the trap on my own. “That’s why it’s the best.”
Hard to argue with logic like that.
We stopped at a red light, and she watched me carefully. “You don’t smile a lot, do you?”
“Not usually.”
“You should,” she said simply. “It would make your face look nicer.”
