Page 114 of Dancing in the Dark

Does your office have a statement on Ms. Waltham’s relationship with the mayor?

There was no relationship between that girl and the mayor, you brainless idiots.

I leave my television on mute and toss the remote back to the couch, but I read the banner scrolling across the bottom, even against my better judgment.

Homicide division no closer to solving young woman’s alleged murder.

“Fifi sure has a lot of stairs, doesn’t she, Moo?” Cato’s voice trails in from the hall, each word a gentle knock inside my stomach. “Maybe that’s why her butt is so cute, huh?”

“Cato!” Mia’s squealing laughter settles the nerves strangling my heart. I skirt my couch and practically run to my door, whipping it open so fast that the breeze blows my hair back.

Instantly, I get eyes on Mia and breathe easier for the first time in hours.

“Ahhhhh! Fiiiifiiiiii!” Her long legs kick out and miss nailing Cato in the junk by a hair. “Put me down, silly! I see Fifi!”

“I see Fifi too.” He looks me up and down the way a man studies a woman, smirking like he’s not afraid of my fist rearranging his face. “Those stairs sure have been good to you, Ms. Lewis.” He sets Mia on her feet, then he straightens out and presses his hand to his heart. “I don’t think it’s weird that you’re almost old enough to be my mom. I’d still play house with you.”

“You’re despicable.” I drop into a crouch and grip the door frame as, predictably, Mia yeets herself carelessly forward and crashes against my chest. “Oh my gosh, baby. I’m so happy to see you! It feels like it’s been forever.”

Laughing, she monkeys her way up and wraps her arms around my neck. “You had breakfast at my apartment this morning.”

“You did?” Cato lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe you wanna come over to my house for breakfast tomorrow, Miss Fifi? It’s important that we spend quality time together to make sure we’re compatible before I officially fall in love.”

“Your house?” I straighten my legs and nuzzle against Mia’s fragrant neck. “You mean the spare bedroom in your brother's and his wife’s house? That one?”

“You make it sound like I’m freeloading and living in their basement,” he grunts. “Rude.”

“Well… aren’t you?”

“Freeloading?” he chuckles. “Yeah. That’s smart business. But in the basement? No. What are you girls up to tonight, anyway? And before you answer.” He stop-signs us and grins. “Can I come?”

“No.” I take a step back and grab my door. I get to slam it in his face in three… two… “Thanks for dropping her off, though. This three-way co-parenting thing we have going on is totally working if no one pays attention to how weird it all is.”

“Fine.” He points a challenging finger toward Mia. “You’re bossy.” Then to me. “You’re mean. But you look damn good in those yoga pants, Ms. Lewis, so you just renewed your six-month subscription of lewd staring, ungentlemanly objectification, and a sleepover on any date of your choosing.”

Mia gasps. “A sleepover!? We should have a sleepover wif Cato!”

“Yeah.” His lips twitch playfully. “You should have a sleepover wif Cato.”

“I’m good, but thanks.”

“Bet you are.” He peels a bright purple Gabby’s Dollhouse backpack off his shoulder and unceremoniously lobs it through my doorway. “Mia told me all about her girl plans for tonight, so then I told her all about my girl plans for tonight. But, like… not with either of you girls.”

Ew.

“Alfred’s downstairs.” He turns toward the stairs and lifts his fingers. Peace. “I’m available by phone if you need anything. But—” He stops and glances back with a wicked smirk. “Please don’t need anything. I’ve gotta let off a little pressure, ya know? And it’s not safe to stop midway. Might pull a hamstring or something.”

“I’m telling your daddy you’re not allowed to hang out with him anymore.” I slam my door and tickle her chin. “Cato is super cheeky.”

“I fink he’s going to kiss someone,” she giggles. “Oh! Daddy’s on the TV!” She wriggles out of my arms and races across my living room. “He’s on the news sometimes a lot, ya know? Sometimes not a lot. It’s different every week.”

“Uh huh. I see him on there even when I haven’t seen him in person.” I pick up her backpack and take it to my kitchen counter, peeling the zipper open and peeking inside. “Do you have a half-eaten apple in here that needs to go in the trash, Moo?” I push a bundled sweater to the side. A stack of pages with varying amounts of scribble on them. “Baby? Last time we didn’t check, your dad was grumbly, remember?”

Unbothered, she turns her back to the television. “He wasn’t seriously grumbly. Just grouchy grumbly.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Uh huh! He saves serious grumbly for people he’s really angry at, and grouchy grumbly for me, like when I made magic shampoo potions in the shower and used up the whole bottle, or like that time I accidentally colored all the faces on the moneys in his wallet.”