Mal undid his seatbelt, letting the click as the lock released the metal latch snap him out of his temporary alarm. Vincent had invited him here. If he hadn’t wanted Mal to come, he would have declined Mal’s suggestion.
The walk up the driveway was long. It was done in stone, too, ground smooth and polished so that the tiny crystals within shone. Mal followed the side of the driveway closest to the door, hugging the line where the stone met the lawn. This early into the spring season, the grass was still dormant, but Mal imagined that when it was rejuvenated, it would be plush and vibrant.
He came to the end of the driveway and to the offshoot leading past the pruned shrubbery bordering the front of the house. Before he could make it halfway across, the front door was flung open, and a young girl jumped out from inside, peering directly at Mal from between the metal balusters that fenced in the stairs.
“Hello,” she said. Her brown hair tumbled down her shoulders, and although most of it was straight and sleek, there was a lock that stuck straight out, defying gravity for half an inch near the root, tangled beyond hope. The outfit she wore was carefully put together—a simple black dress with a boat-line neck and reasonable straps, beneath which was layered a white long-sleeved shirt. She wore black leggings, but if she’d once worn socks, they were long gone. Her bare toes curled over the step she stood on, then wiggled as she hopped down a step and wrapped her hands around the balusters she peered between. “Are youMal?”
“Yes,” Mal said. He came to a stop, giving her space. “Are you Nikki?”
“Yes.” Nikki grinned. Then, in words too measured and enunciated to be genuine, she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
To Mal’s delight, she curtsied, ducking her head so low that her hair hung in front of her. When she righted herself, she swung her head back and mussed her once carefully combed hair that much more. The lock of gravity-defying hair, Mal decided, was from curtsying practice.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” Mal bowed as low as he could without hurting his back. “Is your dad home?”
“He is,” Vincent said from the doorway. Mal looked up to find him leaning against the doorframe, a smirk quirking one side of his lips, and adoration in his eyes. “Was the drive okay?”
“The drive was fine. Traffic on the way out was a little backed up, but it kept moving regardless. I’m glad to have made it.”
“Me, too.”
Nikki looked between Vincent and Mal, then puffed out her chest and grinned. “Tonight, Daddy said we can have pizza! We were waiting for you. Do you want to come in to help?”
“If your dad says that’s okay,” Mal replied.
“It’s okay,” Vincent confirmed.
Nikki set her fists on her hips, her head lifted to make intimidating eye contact with Mal. “You can do everything else you want, but the cheese is my part, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Nikki turned and ran back up the steps at top speed, nearly crashing into Vincent in her haste. She caught onto his leg, then looked up at him, grinning. Vincent looked down, and in his eyes, Mal saw the same bottomless joy and pride that he’d seen in the eyes of his friends when they were with their children. Through babysitting, Mal had been given a taste of that elation—he shivered to think that soon, he might understand it in full.
“You’re hyper tonight,” Vincent observed. “Excited that we have a friend over?”
“Yes.” Nikki’s grin flavored her words. “As long as he’s not a Brent.”
“He’s not a Brent.”
“I’m a Mal,” Mal promised.
Nikki’s attention darted over to him, and she grinned wider than before. She was missing a tooth. “And I’m a demon!”
With that, she launched herself from Vincent’s leg and ran back into the house. Vincent plastered a hand to his forehead and shook his head.
“Is that… common?” Mal asked, holding back a laugh. “She seems too sweet to be a demon.”
“She’s obsessed with the showHeaven, Locked,” Vincent explained. He gestured into the house, silently inviting Mal inside, then took the lead and followed Nikki in. “If you haven’t seen it before, I won’t bother to explain what it is, because I guarantee that Nikki will give you an episode-by-episode breakdown.”
“Sounds… interesting?”
Vincent laughed. He closed the door once Mal was through, then snagged Mal by the front of the shirt and drew him close. They shared a guilty kiss that was nowhere near chaste—the kind that flattened Mal’s stomach and made him want to whimper in pleasure from its intensity. “I can promise you,” Vincent said against his lips, “that it is nowhere near as interesting as you.”
Before Mal could reply, Nikki bounded back into the room, a bag of sliced pepperoni in her hand. She looked from Mal to Vincent, undoubtedly spotting how close they were, then held the bag up like it was nothing out of the ordinary. “Daddy, can I eat one?”
“Not right now, sweet stuff,” Vincent said. He parted from Mal and headed down the hall, destined for what had to be the kitchen. “Not until we know if we have enough for the pizza. Actually, before we do that, we should ask Mal if he likes pepperoni.”
Nikki spun around to look at Mal expectantly. “Do you like pepperoni, Mal?”
