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“It’s just…I can’t say because Mom says it’s mean.”
I frown back at her. “You’re not a mean girl.”
“I know.Okay, if I tell you, you can’t tell Mom I said it.”
“Cross my heart.”
“What does that mean?”
I grin as I pull into the parking lot.
“It means that I promise not to tell.”
“Okay. So, I don’t like Robert’s hair because it looks like spaghetti sauce.”
I wait, positive that there’s more to this story, but she doesn’t say anything else. So, I pull into a parking spot and cut the engine, unbuckle my seatbelt, and turn to look at the little girl who’s staring back at me with sober brown eyes.
“That’swhy you don’t like him?”
“I don’t like spaghetti.” She leans her head back in despair. “We had to play duck, duck, goose the other day in the gym, and I didn’t want to touch his hair.”
“Because it looks like spaghetti.”
She nods solemnly.
“And what don’t you like about spaghetti?” Now I’m starting to wonder ifI’llever eat it again.
“It looks like Robert’s hair,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Well, sweetie, I think of all the things in the world, this isn’t so bad. You don’t have to touch his hairoreat spaghetti.”
“Okay, good. Let’s go in!”
I learned a few things during the dance.
One, little girls will dance forever if given the chance, and they give zero shits about silly things like keeping their shoes on or if anyone cares what they look like.
Two, my brother may have moaned and groaned about going to this thing, but he indulged the hell out of Holly all evening and never once frowned or complained.
Three, Robert’s hair does, indeed, look like spaghetti sauce.
And four, I am completely smitten with a little girl.
Of course, I already knew number four. I’ve had a soft spot for Daisy since the first time I met her, so I’m glad that I came tonight and that she didn’t have to sit this one out because her dad isn’t around.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Remington, keeping my voice down. We’re each holding a little girl, and both of them are passed out cold. “They danced until they dropped.”
Rem grins and waves before we go our separate ways to our vehicles. I ease Daisy into her booster seat and then drive the five minutes to her house.
The snow hasn’t stopped falling. If anything, it’s only started falling harder, which means the drive home will be an adventure.
Daisy doesn’t even stir when I lift her out of the 4Runner and walk up to the door, where Abbi must be watching because she opens it when I approach.
“I saw your lights,” she says and smiles at her daughter, her eyes softening. “She must have had fun.”
“I’ve only seen more dancing onFootloose,” I confirm, making her chuckle. “I’ll carry her up.”
“Thanks.” Abbi gestures up the stairs. I know which bedroom is Daisy’s because I helped them home a couple of weeks ago after Ryan and Polly’s engagement party.
