Page 13 of Finding Little Fiera

Master Mason stepped forward. Like Master Derek, he wore a worn flannel over his yellow staff shirt. Today’s green-plaid flannel was paired with a pair of faded jeans. He stood with his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, but somehow still looked like a Daddy in charge. How did he do that? With an easy grin, he explained what they could expect and what he expected in return.

He went over it all, the check-ins, the color-coded armbands for family groups, and the importance of listening the first time… the deep baritone of his voice, slow, low, and reassuring. It was the perfect voice, calm and steady. He could have beenspeaking only to her, rather than to a crowd. As if he knew her Little would test him, but he’d love her anyway.

That was when Fiera noticed his armband. It was the same color as hers.

Huh?

It was probably a coincidence. The camp used different colors to identify different groups. Colors weren’t uncommon. This meant nothing. She told herself this very firmly… right as Master Mason’s gaze landed right on her. Squinting and shielding her eyes from the sunlight, she probably stuck out like a sore thumb.

Once their eyes met, however, his gaze held her in place. Then he smiled, and everyone else disappeared.

Her skin lit up like a struck match and tingled. The kind of tingle that started behind her ears and raced down her spine. She smiled back before she could stop herself, then immediately thought of the other Littles standing around her who were probably thinking the exact same thing.

She must be imagining things. He wouldn’t want anything to do withher. She was too much, too fast, too loud, too… well, tooher.

Master Derek clapped his hands, breaking the moment. Hopefully, no one else had noticed her reaction.

“Schedules are posted here and by the cafeteria doors. You will also find the weekend schedule in your rooms. If you have a question, stick around. If not, it’s time for breakfast in the main cafeteria. I suggest you go straight there. Chef Connor likes it when Little campers show their appreciation for his hard work by arriving at meals on time. Once you’ve finished eating, you’ll head back here for your first lasso lesson.”

The crowd shifted, and excited chatter bloomed around her. She clasped her hands in front of her to keep from fiddling with her hearing aids.

Waiting for the crowd to move on, she thought about the first class. A lasso lesson! Fiera grinned. Learning to rope something might come in handy. She was hungry, but breakfast meant sitting. At a table. In a loud, echo-y room.

It also meant finding a place to sit. Did she sit by herself? What if there weren’t any empty tables? She would have to sit with people she didn’t know, people who would stare at her hair and ask about her hearing aids. Childhood memories of being labeled Cruella de Vil flashed into her head. Maybe she had time to eat one of her snacks in her room.

She hovered for a second, fingers brushing Sniffles’ ear. Excitement and terror battled for control. Wait a ninny-hammered minute. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to follow the flow toward the cafeteria. Yet she didn’t.

Instead, she lingered at the edge of the grassy area, watching the other Littles drift toward the cafeteria in loose, excited clusters. Laughter filled the air, mingled with chatter and the scent of something sweet and buttery that made her stomach ache in a way that wasn’t entirely hunger.

She adjusted the strap of the oversized backpack she wore on her front and told herself very firmly that she could do this.

Eating alone wasn’t new. She was good at it. As it happened, she was an expert. It was easy enough to find a corner and sit there, pretending to be busy with something. The real trick was eating fast and leaving before anyone stopped to start an awkward conversation.

She took a breath and stepped forward when someone tapped her shoulder. She jumped. Yes, actually jumped. Her heart kicked hard as she spun around, her braid swinging.

“Sorry, little one,” a man said, already holding his hands up as if he hadn’t meant to set off an alarm. His voice was low,calm, steady, a way that instantly slowed her pulse by half a beat. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

It was him. Master Mason Cody, the bearded, worn flannel, tight-jeans-wearing cowboy himself. With his cowboy hat tipped back just enough to reveal his dark gunmetal-gray eyes. He looked even taller up close, broad in a way that felt… protective.

“I’m Mason Cody, but my friends call me Mace,” he said. “Mind if I interrupt?”

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. Swallowing, she tried again. “I—uh. Hi. I’m Fiera. Um... Fiera Sharpe.”

The sun hit her square in the face, bright and relentless, and she squinted, lifting a hand to shield her eyes. She was dimly aware of how ridiculous that must look, standing there blinking like a confused prairie dog. Without comment, Mace reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he gently hooked them over her ears and tipped them down onto her nose.

“There,” he said. “Better.”

The world dimmed, both literally and figuratively. She froze. “Oh… no, I… those are yours.” She reached up, fumbling to push them back at him.

He shook his head. “I’ve got another pair.”

She blinked. “Do you always carry around two pairs of sunglasses?”

He smiled. “I like to be prepared.”

She hesitated, fingers resting on the frame. No one ever just did things like that. Not for her, anyway. Not without expecting something in return. But what in the world could he want from her?