I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t, because if I did, he’d know exactly how much that stupid, meaningless touch had gotten under my skin.
I stepped off the subway, Lucia’s hand still gripping mine. Twenty minutes usually felt short, but tonight, with Marco still lingering at the edges of my mind, it felt like forever.
Lucia hummed some song she’d probably learned at school, occasionally breaking off to ask me questions no normal adult would know how to answer. Like whether pigeons had names, orif snowflakes had families. She was chatty—too chatty—and if I were less tired, it might’ve been cute.
Lucia pointed at a neon sign flickering pathetically over a bodega. “Is that sign broken?”
“It’s just old,” I muttered, distracted.
She nodded, serious. “Like you?”
I shot her a look. “Watch it, kid. I’m twenty-two.”
She swung our linked hands dramatically, apparently already bored with this conversation. “I’m tired. Carry me?”
“You weren’t tired when you begged me for ice cream.”
She yawned, laying it on thick. “Ice-cream energy goes away fast.”
I sighed and lifted her into my arms, because I was a sucker, and because fighting a six-year-old never ended well. She rested her head on my shoulder, her mittened fingers gripping my coat. Her cheek pressed softly against my neck, and suddenly, I felt bad for complaining, even if it was only in my head.
My thoughts drifted back to Marco, because apparently, my brain couldn’t find anything better to fixate on tonight. I wondered if he had kids. Probably not. He didn’t look like someone who knew how to deal with tiny humans. Didn’t look like someone who wanted to deal with any humans, really. But then again, I knew nothing about him besides the fact he worked for Max, wore expensive suits, and had annoyingly perfect posture.
When we finally reached the street, Lucia perked up again, twisting out of my arms and landing in the snow with a small thud.
“You’re awake again?” I asked dryly.
She grinned and immediately grabbed a fistful of snow. “Of course. Snowball fight?”
“Absolutely not. You’ll get sick, and your mother will kill me.”
Lucia ignored me, launching the snowball anyway. It hit my leg, exploding in an impressive burst of powder and soaking through my jeans. I stared down, trying and failing to look annoyed.
She giggled uncontrollably. “Oops.”
I snorted. “That was pathetic.”
Lucia huffed. “It’s ’cause my gloves are too big!”
“Excuses.”
Before she could argue, I crouched down and scooped up my own handful of snow. Rolled it between my palms until it was perfectly compact.
Lucia’s eyes went wide. “No fair,” she protested. “You’re bigger than me!”
I smirked. “Thenrun.”
Her eyes flashed with excitement, and a loud screech followed as she darted toward the front steps, running as fast as she possibly could. When the snowball I tossed hit her back, she ran into the door with a giggle.
Isabel opened the door, brows raised. “What’s going on out here?”
Lucia grinned up at her. “Tía’scheating!”
“She’s also late,” Isabel noted, giving me a pointed look.
I rolled my eyes, brushing the snow off my coat as I followed them inside. The house smelled like something warm. Like cinnamon and broth. Like home.
“Lucia, go take a shower and warm up,” Isa directed.
