Page 48 of Cinder
She’s carrying a small paper bag in her other hand and looks, for a brief second, like she’s checking she’s still welcome. Then her eyes dart down to Elle at my hip, and she smiles.
“Hi.”
My shoulders drop before I can stop them. “Morning.”
“I come bearing backup syrup,” she says, lifting a paper bag slightly. “In case yours is subpar.”
“It’s not.”
“Good. Then we have options.”
Elle squeezes past me as though she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment and barrels into Penny before I can say anything else.
“You saw Mr. Waddles!”
“I did,” Penny laughs, bending instinctively to hug her back. “He had a lot of quacks to tell me.”
“He likes to talk.”
Gus pushes past me next, his tail thumping hard enough to whack the doorframe. He weaves excitedly between her legs, sniffing enthusiastically.
Penny reaches down without hesitation and scritches behind his ears. “Hi, you. How could I forget this face?”
His tail goes into overdrive, and he tilts his head happily, leaning into her ear scratches further.
“Come on in,” I say, stepping back. “Before he knocks you over.”
She toes her shoes off just inside the door without being asked, glancing around the living room with open curiosity before her gaze lands on the oversized wall clock.
“I love that clock,” she says approvingly. “Very dramatic.”
“It’s loud.”
“Mm. That’s how you know time is happening.”
I huff something close to a laugh, then watch as Elle grabs her hand and drags her toward the coffee table.
“I made a new drawing.”
Penny crouches to look at it. “Is this the lake?”
“And the station,” Elle explains, pointing to the paper. “That’s Daddy’s truck. And that’s Gus, but he’s bigger because he’s closer.”
“Ah, that makes sense. This is so good, Elle.”
I carry the plates to the table while I listen to them chat and pour coffee into a second mug without asking if she wants one.
“Oh,” she says softly, stepping into the kitchen. “You already made some.”
“I assumed. Milk?”
“You assumed correctly,” she says with a nod. “Please, just a splash.”
When I pass it to her, her fingers brush mine briefly, and her murmured thanks is barely audible. Her eyes close for a split second as she inhales the steam, and warmth sparks low in my chest. It shouldn’t make me feel as pleased as I do, but it does.
“This smells like someone knows what they’re doing.”
“I do.” I look away, focusing carefully on gathering the last parts of breakfast to bring to the table.
