Page 161 of Cinder
She melts into me after a second, her fingers tightening around mine. And when she tips her face up, her eyes are glassier than I’m prepared for.
“That was dangerously sweet for a man who claims he doesn’t partake in kitchen dance parties.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I murmur.
She bites her lip through a grin, ignoring the deflection as we sway between the island and the fridge while morning light spills across the floorboards.
A moment later, Elle appears in the hallway with one sock on and her backpack hanging open.
“Hey!” she gasps. “You started dancing without me!”
Penny laughs softly against my chest, and I hold my hand out toward Elle without letting Penny go.
“C’mere then, bug.”
She runs at us full speed, wedging herself between us with a delighted giggle, and Penny shifts instantly to make room for her.
Elle’s head tips back to look between us. “Can we do this every morning?”
“Penny already dances with you every morning,” I remind her.
She gives me a look far too unimpressed for someone with one sock on. “With you, too.”
Penny smiles at me over Elle’s head. “I think your dad might need to be eased into morning choreography.”
“I don’t need to be eased into anything,” I mutter.
Her smile widens. “Great. Then occasional choreography should be fine.”
Elle beams. “Does that mean tomorrow?”
“It absolutely does not mean tomorrow,” I say.
Penny laughs softly, and I tug them both a little closer, the three of us swaying clumsily around the kitchen together.
When the dance party finishes, Elle dashes off to get her sneakers and extra sock, and Penny turns back to finish packing her lunchbox.
“Did the calls go okay?” she asks over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say, walking up behind her to wrap my arms around her middle. “Sorted it. This Saturday at ten.”
“If you need, I can—”
“I know.” I tighten my hold a fraction, and my mouth skims just below her ear. “I got it.”
Her fingers curl around my forearm where it crosses her stomach, but she doesn’t relax into me the way she did a minute ago.
“I don’t wanna make this harder for you,” she says.
I shift and turn her fully toward me so I can see her face. There’s concern there, and a little edge of guilt, as though maybeshe thinks she’s somehow part of this complication just by existing in our lives.
“Hey.” I wait until she looks at me properly. “Whatever voice is in your head right now saying you’re bad luck, it’s wrong.”
She exhales slowly through her nose.
“You’re not, Penny,” I add. “You make everything better.”
There’s a beat where she considers me, her eyes searching mine to measure the truth of my words, and then she nods.
