"Dragons aren't real, dummy," his neighbor hisses.
"They could be!"
"If a dragon started a fire," Rileysays, with impressive seriousness, "I imagine the evidence would be very distinctive. Large claw prints. Maybe some scales. Probably a lot more damage than a typical accelerant."
The kids dissolve into a debate about dragon fire versus regular fire, and Ms. Huang shoots Riley a grateful look for handling that with such grace.
The questions keep coming. Riley fields them with patience I didn't know she possessed, crouching down to their level and explaining forensic concepts in terms seven-year-olds can understand. Fingerprints. Burn patterns. The way fire moves and leaves clues behind.
She's a natural. Who knew?
I hang back and watch her work, feeling something shift in my chest. She's got ash diagrams spread on the floor now, surrounded by a cluster of kids who are treating her like the most fascinating person they've ever met.
Which, honestly, she might be.
"You're staring."
I blink. Ms. Huang has appeared beside me, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face.
"Just observing. Part of my job."
"Uh-huh." Her smile widens. "She's good with them."
"Yeah." The word comes out softer than I intend. "She really is."
"So how long have you two been together? The kids are going to ask, and I'd rather have the real answer than whatever chaos that produces."
The real answer. Right.
"It's... recent," I manage. The same line Riley used at the first event. "We're still figuring things out."
Ms. Huang nods like this makes perfect sense. "The good ones take time."
The good ones. Damn.
After the presentation wraps up and we've posed for approximately nine thousand photos with excited children, Riley and I escape to the parking lot with matching expressions of exhausted relief.
"A girlfriend," she says flatly, the moment we're out of earshot. "You told twenty-three second graders I'm your girlfriend."
"I panicked."
"You panicked." She's not actually mad—I can tell by the way her mouth keeps twitching. "Your panic response is to upgrade our fake relationship status in front of children?"
"They were asking about my love life! What wasI supposed to do, explain the nuances of a PR arrangement to seven-year-olds?"
"You could have said no."
"I could have," I agree. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to watch you explain forensic evidence to a room full of kids like it was the most natural thing in the world."
She stops walking. Turns to face me. The afternoon sun catches her hair, turning it shades of red and gold.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you were incredible in there." I take a step closer. "It means watching you get excited about shoe print analysis while surrounded by second graders was one of the best things I've seen in a long time. It means?—"
"Aiden."
"—I'm having a really hard time remembering that this is supposed to be fake."
