Page 62 of Cinder
“That’s the spirit,” Penny says brightly.
I shift my weight once, then give an aggressively stiff kick of my leg out to the side before attempting what I’m fairly certain qualifies as a shoulder shimmy. But the second it leaves my body, I know I’ve made a mistake.
There’s a beat of silence, then Penny makes a strangled noise and folds over laughing.
Elle drops to the floor dramatically. “Daddy, noooo.”
I narrow my eyes at both of them and snatch my coffee back up. “This is exactly why I don’t participate in things.”
“No, no, it was great,” Penny wheezes, gripping the counter for support. “Five-star performance. You’re halfway to a professional full routine.”
“And you’re halfway to me remembering why I like quiet.”
She laughs louder, and there’s something in the way she looks at me, as though she’s watching a door crack open a millimeter at a time. The unsettling part is that she probably is.
A week ago, I was still mentally correcting myself every time I walked past the guest house and remembered someone else lived on my property. Now she’s standing in my kitchen, convincing me to dance, with my daughter wrapped around her legs, and somehow it already feels relatively normal.
She’s testing me, I know she is. Seeing what parts of me she can coax out into the open before I shut the door again.
But the part that should be pissed off by that isn’t nearly as irritated as usual.
The song winds down, and Penny turns the volume back to something reasonable, brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist.
“Okay,” she says, businesslike now. “School mode. Let’s start with something to wear, then breakfast.”
“Yes!” Elle scrambles toward the hallway to change properly, already talking at full volume about who she’s going to sit next to and whether the classroom fish survived the holidays.
Penny moves easily back into motion, snapping the lunchbox closed and ensuring Elle’s water bottle is filled. After breakfast, I watch her kneel to zip Elle’s jacket when she comes barreling back in, then help her smooth down her hair and press a quick kiss to the top of her head.
“You’ve got everything packed?” Penny asks.
“Was the penguin sandwich in my lunchbox?”
“Present and accounted for, even approved by Dad.”
Elle grins at me. “Daddy, did you help?”
“I supervised,” I say.
“Judged,” Penny murmurs lightly.
She grabs her keys from the hook by the door—the spare set I added there last week without thinking too hard about what that meant—then holds her hand out for Elle.
“Ready, m’lady?”
Elle slips her hand into Penny’s and looks back at me once, with her big, bright blue eyes. Her grip tightens in Penny’s, and she glances toward the door, then back at me.
“Daddy?”
There’s something smaller in her voice that makes me immediately crouch in front of her, tugging the collar of her jacket a little more snug around her.
“What’s up, bug?”
“What if…” She frowns slightly, trying to find the words. “What if they already have new best friends?”
“It’s only been a few weeks,” I say gently, my chest tightening regardless. “That’s not long enough to replace you.”
“But what if they forgot I sit by the window?”
