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“Go on, Sonya,” Scott urges her with a smile.
She looks up. “Hi.”
Scott lowers to his knee. “This is my daughter, Sonya,” he says.
“How old is she?” I ask.
He rubs her arm. “How old are you, Sonya?” he asks her.
She holds up her hand, showing four fingers.
“Four years old, huh?” I say. “Liam is four, too. Aren’t you, honey?”
He doesn’t reply.
Scott stands up. “So, what’s in the basket?” he asks me.
“Oh.” I shift it on my arm. “I just... I made some muffins.”
“Muffins?”
“A batch of mini muffins.”
“What kind?”
“Blueberry.”
“I like blueberry. Thank you.”
“I’m not giving them to you now,” I say.
Scott smirks. “No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you stole my bakery!”
“I didn’t steal your bakery,” he says. “I bought my barbershop.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is!”
“Come on, Lottie. Don’t be petty. Surely you won’t deny a father a taste of your delicious treats in front of his adorable daughter, would you?” he teases, throwing my words back at me.
I glare, but soften it as I look at Sonya. Bending down, I extend the basket toward her. “Would you like a muffin?” I ask.
She hesitates, her eyes growing wide.
“Go on,” Scott says to her. “You can have one.”
Sonya’s little eyes shift between me and Liam as she slinks forward and reaches out for a muffin.
“What do we say, Sonya?” Scott asks.
