She shifts, suddenly nervous. “Do you hate it?”
“What?” I look up fast. “No.”
Her brows knit. “You’re making a face.”
“I’m making a face because—” I clear my throat. “Because it’s… incredible.”
Her expression brightens instantly.
“You like it?”
I nod once.
Then again, firmer.
“I love it,” I say. “It’s perfect.”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for ten minutes. “Oh my God. Okay. Good.”
I stand up, still holding the painting, and step around the table.
She looks up at me, her smile smaller now, softer.
I pull her into a hug with one arm, careful not to crush the frame.
“Thank you,” I say into her hair. “Seriously.”
She hugs me back, squeezing tight.
“You’re welcome,” she murmurs.
Then she straightens. “Okay,” she says, clapping her hands once. “Are you ready for your second present?”
“Okay?” I ask warily.
And then she’s gone again, practically skipping out of the kitchen.
I set the painting carefully against the wall.
From the hallway, I hear her whispering something in a high, coaxing voice.
Then a small sound.
A yip.
My heart stutters.
What the—?
Talia walks back into the kitchen with a furball in her arms.
A small golden retriever puppy, all paws and soft ears and dark curious eyes. Its tail is wagging like it’s powered by magic.
My brain stops working.
Talia’s smile is so bright it almost hurts to look at.
“Surprise,” she says again, softer this time.
