Emma taps her chin, a gesture she definitely stole from me when I’m grading particularly questionable midterms. She leans in even closer and whispers, “Does that mean she’ll be around all the time? Instead of just sometimes?”
I nod, my throat a little tight. “Probably, yeah.”
“And she’ll help me with my Halloween costume next year? I want to be a glow-in-the-dark jellyfish.”
“I’d say the odds of a jellyfish collaboration are extremely high.”
Emma considers the logistics of a bioluminescent future for a beat, then whispers back, “Okay. She can stay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I like Annie a lot.”
I whisper back—at a volume I know for a fact Annie can hear— “Me too.A lot, a lot.”
I stand back up, and Emma immediately pivots, lunging for Annie’s sleeve. “My dad says he likes you a lot!” she bellows in a stage-whisper that carries all the way to the Sheep Meadow. Then, she lets out a shrill, delighted cackle and skips ahead.
“Traitor!” I call out, but it’s half-hearted—her laugh’s too infectious, a pure, belly-deep peal that echoes off the trees.
Annie turns to me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, word on the street is you like me a lot?”
“Blame the five-year-old. Loose lips sink ships.”
“Wonder who she inherited that from.”
“Her mom, obviously. I’m the poster child of restraint.”
Annie snorts, that unladylike burst that always catches me off guard in the best way. “For the record, I like you back. A smidge.”
“A smidge? That’s it?”
“Fine, a moderate amount.”
“Moderately. Wow, high praise.”
“Only on good days,” she adds, her eyes dancing.
“This is a good day.”
She tilts her head, the wind teasing a strand of hair across her face. “Top-tier, I’d say.”
I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead—slow, lingering, breathing in that faint citrus from her shampoo—and when I pull back, her eyes have gone all soft, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, making my ribcage feel a size too small.
She glances down at our intertwined hands, the warmth of her palm seeping into mine, then nods toward Emma, who’s now negotiating with a squirrel for a photo op. “You think this won’t freak her out? Us, like this?”
I shrug, watching Emma’s chaotic joy. “Maybe for a bit. But she’s resilient. She’s like a tiny, human rubber ball—she bounces back pretty quick.”
Annie bumps my shoulder with hers, a gentle nudge that sends a spark up my arm. “Apple doesn’t fall far. You’re pretty resilient yourself.”
“Please. You’re one to talk. You’re the girl who traded fame and fortune for the gritty charm of the subway and living among us mere peasants.”
Annie bursts out laughing. “Peasants? Really, Leo?”
“Well, we’re regular folk. Commoners. We buy our coffee in cardboard cups. No silver spoons in sight.”
“You are a Columbia professor,” she points out, deadpan.
“A struggling Columbia professor. There’s a distinct lack of ivory towers in my life.”
