“He’s my favorite,” she says with the gravitas that only a five-year-old can muster. “After Ariel. And Sebastian. And Scuttle.”
“So, he’s a solid fourth?”
“Maybe fifth. I also really like that seagull.”
“That is Scuttle, Em.”
She pauses, her little brow furrowing as she recalculates her rankings. “Then he’s fourth.”
I glance up for just a second and find Leo still watching me from the doorway. Not Emma. Me. And I look away so fast I almost give myself whiplash, heat blooming across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose like I’m twelve years old.
He’s Greek and gorgeous and looking at me with this curious, intrigued expression that makes me feel squirmy and warm. It’s a look that makes a girl want to either move in or move to another continent to save her heart the trouble. Emma’s still talking, something about her presents and how many there are and which one she thinks has Barbies in it, but I haven’t heard a single word because Leo is still looking at me like that and I don’t know what to do with my face.
“—and Daddy won’t let me open them until after we go trick-or-treating!” Emma’s voice breaks the spell, her tone indignant. “Even though it’s MY birthday.”
Leo finally breaks eye contact, a slow, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks down at her. “Yiayia andPappou are coming over later, koukla. They’d never forgive me if they missed the Great Barbie Unboxing.”
Emma sighs, a sound of such profound theatrical suffering that I have to hide my laugh behind my hand.
“Well,” I say, seizing the chance to do something—anything—other than be pinned under Leo’s scrutiny. “If it makes the wait any easier, I might have a little something for you in this bag.”
I lay the garment bag on the sofa and pull the zipper. It makes a satisfyingshhhhtsound, and Emma scrambles over so fast she nearly does a cartoon skid. As the costume emerges, the afternoon sun hits the kitchen, and the whole room suddenly looks like the inside of a disco ball.
“NO WAY!” she shrieks, the sound echoing off the high ceilings.
“Way,” I grin.
“Is that—is that a glitter-cat-mermaid costume?!”
“The only one of its kind,” I say, holding it up. I spent a week and an embarrassing amount of caffeine on this.
The transformation is immediate. I help her out of her corduroy overalls and into the black bodysuit, then shimmy the tail up. I gather her blonde curls into two high pigtails and crown the whole thing with the sequined cat ears—teal, floppy, and lined with pink felt.
“Okay,” I whisper, giving her a little nudge. “Go check the mirror.”
She doesn’t run; she launches. When she hits the hallway mirror, she stops dead. Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes going wide as saucers. “Oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH. Annie, look! I’m so sparkly!”
“The sparkliest.”
“I look like a princess!”
“Better than a princess,” I tell her, leaning against the wall.
“Better than Ariel?”
“Em, you’d make Ariel retire to a tide pool in shame.”
She spins, a whirlwind of shimmering scales and velvet, before throwing herself at my legs again for a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
I look up, and my breath hitches. Leo has moved closer—he’s standing just a few feet away from me now, hands tucked into his pockets, watching the scene with an expression that is dangerously close to adoration.
“You actually made that?” he asks, his voice softer, more intimate.
“Cori and I had a brief, glitter-induced falling out during the fin construction,” I admit, trying to keep my voice steady. “But we pulled through.”
“It’s incredible, Annie.” His eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, the apartment, the balloons, and the cross-eyed Flounder all melt away. “It’s perfect. Thank you. I mean it.”
I shrug, my heart doing a frantic little tap-dance against my ribs. “She wanted to be a glitter-cat-mermaid, Leo. I’m pretty sure that’s a legally binding request.”
