“Yeah, buddy, that’s right,” he answers.
I crouch down to his level. “Why do you think Erin feels like that?” I ask him.
Roman shrugs. “She didn’t give you her secret smile. She always does. That means something’s wrong. Did you break it?”
I take in the worry on my godson’s face and give him a gentle smile. “I hope not. Any idea what I can do to find out?”
“Be honest. Dad says we always gots choices. The truth hurts sometimes, but we need all the information so we can choose how to feel. I want Erin to have a happy heart. She’s my third favorite person so you need to fix it.”
Without another word, he takes off, and I head into the kitchen to figure out why my girl is wearing a scowl.
I catch her before she can reach for the Jelly Tots. Her hand is halfway in the cupboard when I wrap mine around her wrist and gently tug her toward the laundry closet.
I pull us inside of it.
“Uh, no. Let me out. I don’t want people thinking we snuck away in the middle of dinner to?—”
“To, what?” I flick on the light and pull the door closed behind as I back her against the wall.
She finishes her sentence. “To have funny business.”
I huff a laugh. “Sweetheart, there’s nothingfunnyabout you screaming my name while I’m deep inside of you.”
She looks away, that shyness taking over.
Damn adorable.
But she’s still irritated. Still tense.
Roman was right—something’s wrong, and I’m done guessing.
I dip my head close to hers. “Tell me why you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” she mutters.
“Roman says you are.”
“What?” she asks, her eyes widening.
“He said that you have a sad heart and that I should fix it because you’re his third favorite person.”
A tiny curve pulls at her mouth, but then she frowns as if she remembers she’s mad at me again.
“And he asked me if I broke your secret smile.”
She laughs, but it’s empty, her face staying neutral, showing nothing but quiet frustration.
I brush her hair away from her face. “What’s bothering you, Erin?”
She hesitates before saying, “I used your laptop.”
Okay… not where I thought this was going to go.
“I was checking my email, and… I saw a website.”
“A website?”
“One that rhymes with corn,” she whispers, her discomfort dripping from her features. “I thought maybe you were watching it because that’s what you wanted. And I don’t look like them?—”
