She nods, agreeing. She scrunches her tiny nose in thought. I can tell she wants to say something.
“What’s up, kiddo?” I prod gently, knowing something is bouncing around in her noggin.
“I think my best part of the day,” she starts nervously, “was when we got our Clover.”
I’m a bit stunned at the admission, to be honest. We went by today to check on the foal born a few days ago, and she’s choosing Clover over that? Huh.
Also,ourClover?
“Yeah? She’s been around Aunt Brynn and me for a long time. Since Aunt Brynn was your age!”
Lennon seems to calculate that.
“That’s like . . . a hundred zillion years.”
I laugh loudly, the sound booming from my chest. This little shit.
“Don’t let Aunt Brynn or Clover hear you say that. They’ll swear they are only in their thirties.”
I lean over and kiss her forehead.
“I love you, Lennon,” I say earnestly.
“Love you too, Daddy,” she echoes.
I get to her door and turn her light out, and I’m about to shut it when I hear her say something.
“What was that?” I ask, popping my head back in the door.
“I saaaid,” she stretches out dramatically. “You forgot to tell Purrlock goodnight, too.”
“Night, cat,” I say, sighing.
“Dad, that’s not how you do it.”
I would do anything for this little girl, so I go back into her bedroom, scratch the damn cat between his ears, and tell him goodnight. He purrs in response.
It feels like he’s being snarky, and I won’t be trying to explain that.
When I get back out to the living room, Clover is still sitting in front of the fireplace, lost in her phone.
CLOVER
I’m checking my bank account for the five hundredth time today, seeing if I’m going to get paid for my last project. I’m lucky enough not to be struggling financially, but I’m still stressed, not knowing when I’ll get my next gig.
“You plan on staying in wet clothes all night, Clover Jane?”
Beck’s voice brings me back to reality. I lock my phone screen and smile up at him.
“Actually, Beckett Hayes Hollis, I plan on turning myself about five degrees every few minutes for the rest of the night. Dry off like a rotisserie chicken,” I say sweetly.
He shakes his head and chuckles. “More like a gas station hot dog.”
I scowl at him.
“Really, Clover. Why don’t you shower and get changed? I’ll get the guest room ready while you do,” he offers.
I scratch my cheek, trying to figure out how to tell him that I actually don’t have any clothes with me.
