‘My dad likes coffee, too.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah. He drinks lots of it.’ With barely a breath, she continued with: ‘I don’t like it. It tastes funny.’
Nina thought about that. ‘Itdoestaste funny.’
‘I like juice,’ Poppy offered.
‘Oh, me too.’ As Poppy led her to the full pot of coffee and showed her the mugs on the mug tree on the counter, Nina kept the conversation going. ‘What’s your favourite juice?’
‘Apple.’
‘Apple juice is good.’ Nina poured herself a cup from the pot, took the first sip black to kick-start her brain before walking to the fridge to search for some milk.
Poppy watched in silence as she added milk to her coffee. Her gaze was so intent on Nina’s face that she explained, ‘It makes it taste better.’
But instead of acknowledging the comment, Poppy asked, ‘What happened to your face?’
Nina’s hand shot up immediately, covering as much of the yellow bruising as she could. She had been so consumed with thoughts of Markus’s arrival, so ingrained in her morning routine and sourcing coffee, that she hadn’t even stopped to consider her bruises, or how they would stand out under the bright kitchen lights.
What the hell did she say? Poppy was five. She was so sweet and innocent and free, and Nina didn’t want to be the one to indoctrinate her into the real world.
For a long moment they just stood there, staring at one another, Poppy’s eyes full of curiosity, Nina’s full of doubt and pain.
That’s how Maverick found them. Standing in the kitchen, staring at one another, Nina’s hand covering her face.
‘Good morning,’ he said tentatively.
‘Daddy!’ Poppy ran to him.
He scooped her up instantly, planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. ‘What were you guys talking about?’ he asked, more concerned by the look that had been on Nina’s face than Poppy’s.
‘I just wanted to know how she got her ouchie.’
‘Ah.’ Maverick put her down.
‘Ouchie’ was a word he thought Poppy had grown out of, but he supposed she might not have the vocabulary to describe the yellow mottling on Nina’s face.
Nina herself was eerily silent, and unwilling to share her story without her permission, even with a child, Mav tried to generalize. ‘Nina got hurt.’
‘How?’ Poppy asked.
He groaned internally. For a moment he considered lying, considered telling Poppy that Nina had fallen down the stairs or something similar. But before he could give life to the words, Nina intervened. She walked to Poppy, crouched down to her level, and in a voice that was so quiet, said, ‘I got hurt by a bad man.’
Mav watched Poppy’s face, and he wondered if it was ever too early to explain to a little girl that the world was full of predators? Was it ever too early to try and make them understand why they had to be careful all the time even though it wasn’t fair?
Poppy’s eyes widened. She didn’t ask ‘Why?’ or ‘Who?’ She knew that bad people existed in the world, even if it was only through Disney. She looked athimand she said, ‘But you won’t let him hurt her again.’
Mav’s heart softened at the absolute faith she had in him. But he angled his face to look at Nina, said, ‘No. I won’t.’
Nina seemed to be struggling with the emotional exchange. Her lips wobbled, and even as she fought her tears, he saw the way they filled her eyes, making them look like two black, inky pools.
Mav wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to go to her, to hold her, even as he told himself that she wouldn’t welcome the touch and that he needed to keep his distance.
It was Poppy who reached up one tiny hand to trace the bruises on Nina’s face, and when Nina smiled shakily at the sweet gesture, Poppy stood on her tippy toes and kissed Nina’s face, whispered, ‘All better.’
Instead of falling apart as he’d expected, Nina pulled herself together. He watched as she engaged that part of herself that had made her famous, saw her eyes dry and her smile brighten even though he knew it cost her. She said, ‘Itdoesfeel better. Thank you, Poppy.’
