“I’m glad he does. He has a pretty smile,” I say before I can take it back.
But the little one beams at me. “Yes, he does. I really want to live with him. I hope Mom let’s me.”
“She will,” I say.
“You’re my hero,” she says. “And his too.”
Okay. Don’t cry. Just don’t.
I bite it back. God, I must I be premenstrual. I can’t cry because a little kid says something nice to me.I’m her hero.And suddenly all my career choices make sense again. This is why I chose family law. Not for the bickering parents. Not for the money. To make children happy.
“I prefer frozen yogurt,” Colton says, and suddenly there’s a way too big shade covering us. I look up and watch him stepping in front of us, spoon in hand, like he’s been here the whole time.
“No way,” I shoot back. “Chocolate. Always.”
“Rainbow,” Livy adds loyally, already halfway through hers.
“I can tell,” Colton says with a quiet chuckle. “It’s… kind of everywhere.”
“What?” I sit up straighter, instinctively wiping at my face. “No, it’s not?—”
“Hey,” he murmurs, softer now. “Come here,Solnyshko.”
Before I can argue, he pulls a napkin from his pocket and reaches out, brushing it gently along the corner of my mouth. It’s quick, careful. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I go very still.
It’s such a small thing. Ridiculously small. But no one’s ever just… done that. No commentary, no teasing edge, no reminder that I should’ve noticed myself. That it’s embarrassing for a grown up.
He just fixed it.
“Got it,” he says.
I don’t answer. I’m too busy staring at him, which is not ideal, because he’s close enough that all I can really focus on is his eyes. Ridiculously blue against the sun.
Colton seems to realize I haven’t moved or spoken, because he hesitates, hand dropping back to his side. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he takes a small step back. “If I—uh—overstepped.”
“All good,” I manage a little too quickly.
Livy, completely unbothered by any of this, takes another enthusiastic bite of her cone. Since she’s almost finished and I’m happy to change the topic, I ask:
“So, what now? Ferris wheel has a line.”
Colton glances at his watch. “We’ve still got a lot of time. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Livy says, licking the sprinkles from her fingers. “Can we do the games? Daddy’s good at games.” Her eyes flick to me, like I’m the final boss level she has to defeat.
“Sure, need to add them to the template, but why not,” I joke and turn to Colton again. “It’s your call, though.”
He considers for a moment, then nods. “Games. But only two.”
As we walk over to the game hall, Colton’s hand lands briefly on my arm—a touch so fleeting I’d swear I imagined it if not forthe tiny, static zap it leaves on my skin. “Thank you,” he says, quiet enough only I catch it. “I hate it when they crowd us.”
“No worries,” I say, pulling back before I lose it.
We head toward the midway, and as Livy skips ahead, Colton lingers behind, matching my pace. “You know,” he says. “She remembers more than she lets on.”
“Children always do,” I reply, refusing to look at him. Too pretty. This is work. And I’m in a relationship.
