But my brain won’t stay quiet.
I set the pencil down and roll onto my side so I can look at Robbie properly.
“I’m really nervous about the show,” I confess, voice small and my heartbeat going up a notch. “Like…reallynervous. Milo was being super weird today after that man left too which just made the whole thing ten times worse.”
Robbie pauses mid-stroke on his dragon’s wing. “Weird how?”
“Like…twitchy. Sweaty. He kept looking at the door like he expected someone to come back and yell at him. And that guy—” I shiver just remembering the dark suit, the cold confidence rolling off him in waves. “He looked like he eats people for breakfast, Robbie. And Milo was practically shaking. And that’s not the Milo I’m used to, you know?”
Robbie tilts his head, considering. “Maybe the guy’s just some rich collector who wants to buy the whole gallery or something. It could be good news for you! Milo’s always bragging about how much money he has, right? Maybe he feels intimidated by someone with more than him.”
“But he looked scary,” I whisper. “Like…dangerousscary. Not finance-bro scary.”
Robbie reaches over and squeezes my hand. His fingers are warm and a little sticky from the juice he spilled earlier.
“Listen, baby boy,” Robbie says softly, using that gentle voice he saves for when I’m spiraling. “Your show is going to be amazing. Your sculptures are incredible. People are going to walk in there and lose their minds. And Milo? He might be a show-off, but he knows how to sell art. Whatever weird vibe you picked up, it’s probably just gallery politics. Nothing to do with you.”
I chew my bottom lip. “You think?”
“I know.” He boops my nose with the end of his pencil. “You’ve worked so hard. You deserve to shine. And if anyone tries to mess with your night, they’ll have to get through me first. And I bite.”
Damn, Robbie is good.
I snort-laugh, the tension in my chest unwinding a fraction. “You bite like a angry kitten.”
“An angry kitten with very sharp baby teeth,” Robbie corrects, flashing them at me.
I smile—actually smile—and pick my pencil back up. “Okay. I’m gonna finish this unicorn, then we race. Loser has to do the winner’s dishes for a week.”
“Deal,” Robbie says immediately. “But you’re washing my sippy cups too. They’re always sticky.”
We finish our pictures in record time, mine sparkly and dreamy, his fierce and full of fire. Then we grab Goldie and Robbie’s stuffy, a fluffy purple capybara named Squish, and head to the race track.
The playroom has been transformed tonight: bright tape marks out lanes on the padded floor, little traffic cones, even a checkered finish line made of soft felt. A bunch of other Littles are already zooming around in socks, some crawling, some scooting on their bottoms, a few brave ones attempting to run without tripping over their own rompers.
Robbie and I line up at the start, stuffies tucked under our arms like batons.
“Ready… set…” one of the caregivers calls, a big smile on his face.
We both crouch like sprinters.
“GO!”
I take off like a rocket, giggling so hard my vision blurs. Robbie is right beside me, arms pumping, Squish flapping wildly. Weweave around the cones, dodge a Little in a dinosaur onesie who’s decided to roll instead of run, and I can feel the carpet burning my knees through my romper.
Halfway around the second lap, someone bumps me—not so gently—and I stumble, laughing, right into Robbie. We go down in a tangle of limbs and rompers and stuffies, rolling into three other Littles who were already in a pile.
It turns into a full-on cuddle-pile-up, everyone shrieking and squealing and hugging. I end up on my back with Goldie squished against my chest, Robbie’s head on my tummy, and some random Little’s foot in my hair.
It’s chaotic andperfect.
For a little while, I forget about galleries and scary men and deadlines.
But eventually the caregivers start herding everyone toward wind-down snacks and story time. Robbie and I collect our things, still breathless and flushed.
“So much!” Robbie squeals with delight. “I’m in the mood to party. Hit a bar. I know you said you wouldn’t come out after, but…”
“I’m gonna head to the gallery,” I tell him as we change back into street clothes in the cubby area. “I need to move a couple things around. Milo did okay, but… it’s not quite right yet.”
