Page 46 of Falling For You

"I don't want to intrude."

"You carried my groceries. The least I can do is make you a cup of coffee."

Barb made coffee in a French press and set out two mugs while Birdie settled into the living room with her coloring book and the TV on low.

We sat at the kitchen table. Barb asked about the job, about the neighborhood, about how I was settling in. Easy questions that people asked when they were taking stock of someone new. I gave her honest answers and she listened without rushing me.

"Birdie is obsessed with you," Barb said. "Every time I pick her up from school, it's Andy this, Andy that. She told her entire class that a real detective lives across the street."

"I'm not a detective yet."

"According to Birdie, it's already done." Barb took a sip of her coffee.

I smiled. "She's the kind of kid who makes you want to earn it."

"She is." Barb set her mug down. "Wyatt's done well with her. I help where I can, but that little girl is all him."

I could hear Birdie in the living room, talking to her toys. The TV was playing something animated with a lot of singing.

My bag was on the table between us. The Kindle was sticking out of the top. I'd shoved it in before leaving for the store. The lock screen showed the cover of the book I'd been reading on my porch that morning.

Barb glanced down at it. "Oh, that's a good one."

I felt the blood climb up my face.

"I finished it last week," she said, picking up her coffee like she'd just commented on the weather. "The scene where he shows up at her door in the rain? I had to put it down and walk around the block."

I stared at her. "You've read it?"

"I go through about two a week. More when Wyatt's on shift and Birdie goes to bed early." She took a sip. "So who's your favorite author?"

"I can't say I have just one," I said. "I like a lot of them."

I told her my favorites. She told me hers, and within five minutes we were comparing notes on the authors we loved, characters we couldn't stand, endings that made us cry, series we'd reread. Barb had opinions about everything, delivered with the confidence of a woman who'd been reading romance for decades and didn't apologize for any of it.

I'd never talked about these books with anyone before. There was something refreshing about sharing something I loved with someone who wasn't making me feel stupid for loving it, or making me feel like I wasn't the kind of woman who should be reading these books in the first place.

"Andy?" Birdie appeared at the edge of the kitchen. "Can you do my hair like yours?"

"Like mine?"

"The braidy one that you had at school."

I looked at Barb. She smiled and nodded toward Birdie.

I sat on the couch, Birdie plopped on the floor between my knees. I pulled off the hair tie keeping her ponytail in place and combed through her hair with my fingers, separating three sections.

"This might pull a little," I said. "Tell me if it's too tight."

"Okay."

I braided slowly, crossing one section over another, the way I'd done my own hair every morning. My fingers knew the pattern without thinking. Over, under, pull. Over, under, pull. Birdie sat perfectly still.

When I finished, I wrapped the elastic around the end and patted her shoulder. "All done."

Birdie scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom mirror. I heard a gasp, and then her footsteps pounding back down the hall.

"It's so pretty!" She stood in the doorway with her hands on her cheeks, beaming. "Barb, look! Look!"