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“I’ll have to think of a nickname for you. Maybe pumpkin lips.”
“Pumpkin lips?”
He gaped at her with pretend-horror. No, wait, that was actual horror. Because if she ever called him that in front of Kiesha, then he’d never live it down. “You best do better than that, brat.”
She just grinned. He was enjoying this light-hearted side of her too much to tell her that he’d put her over his knee if she ever called him that in public.
Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to go grab your stuff from the motel. I know you paid for the week, but Arnie is unlikely to give you a refund. I can put the pressure on him—”
“No, it’s fine,” she told him. “I really don’t care about the money. Honest. But umm . . .” She trailed off looking uncertain and miserable.
He definitely didn’t like her looking that way. Reaching out, he ran his fingers down her cheek. “What is it?”
“Well, shoot. See there is something I need that you might not find.”
That wasn’t mysterious or anything.
“What is it?”
“Under the pillow is a toy, a parrot.”
A parrot? That was interesting. And under the pillow? Why would she keep it there?
“I know it’s stupid to want a stuffed toy when I’m an adult,” she said, shame clear in her voice.
Nope. He wasn’t having any of that.
“Hey.” Reaching out, he tilted up her chin. “Listen to me.”
Her eyes flared at the firmness in his voice. Good. He wanted her to know he was serious about this. “There is nothing wrong with needing a comfort object. Whether it’s a toy, a blanket, some sort of keepsake. All right?”
She still looked uncertain but she nodded. “All right.”
“Do you need it to sleep?”
Her cheeks went bright red but she nodded. “Well, I don’t really sleep much but yeah, I feel better when I have him.”
He frowned. “You should have asked me to get it for you when you first woke up in the hospital.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that. I mean, I was worried about what you . . . “
“About what I’d think? Because you always have to be strong? Make all the decisions? Be confident?” he asked gently.
Her shoulders slumped. “Something like that.”
Placing his hand under her chin, he tilted her face up. “You don’t have to do everything. You can let all that go when you’re with me. You can give me your fears, your burdens.”
“I don’t need someone to make decisions for me,” she told him. But there was a look of indecision on her face.
“Is that what you truly believe or what you think you should say?”
She gulped.
“Letting someone help isn’t a sign of weakness. It takes a lot of courage. And trust. You need to know that they will protect you, keep you safe, have your best interests at heart. You can lean on me.”
“I’m not sure I know how to do that,” she admitted.
“I can help you.”
