Page 79 of Revenge Puck
“Because,” I say patiently. “I’m a grown man.”
“Do you snore?” a boy asks.
My gaze rises, and I meet Juliette’s eyes when I say, “I don’t know.”
Another hand goes up. “Are you rich?”
I almost choke. “Define rich.”
“Like…can you buy a dinosaur?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not rich.”
Fair enough.
“Are you nice?” someone else asks.
“Yes, he’s nice.” Juliette finally interrupts, walking to the small chair I’m struggling to stay perched on, resting her hands on my shoulders before remembering she probably shouldn’t be touching me. “Young ladies and tiny gentlemen, let’s let Mr. Bishop finish his story, shall we? He drove all this way to spend time with you.”
She steps back, smoothing the front of her sweatshirt, but this over-eager crowd is still not convinced they’d rather hear the story than pester me.
“He looks grumpy.”
“I amnotgrumpy.”
From across the room, Storm lets out a bellowing cackle. “You are a little grumpy.”
The kid ignores him.
I shut the book with more force than necessary. “Alright. Story time is over before this turns into a therapy session.”
They groan.
A tiny set of arms wraps around my waist from the side without warning. I freeze, then awkwardly pat the kid’s back.
“Thank you for reading,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply, even though I only got through five pages. “You’re welcome.”
Juliette clears her throat and claps as if she’s done this a million times. “Alright, kids. Let’s thank Mr. Bishop one more time.”
They clap again, chaotic and enthusiastic.
As they’re herded toward the craft tables, Storm wanders over to my tiny chair, sticking his hand out in an attempt to help me out of it.
I take it begrudgingly, coming to my feet. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Came to see two of my favorite people.”
That has Juliette bursting into laughter. “Stop flirting, for the love of God. We are at a work function.”
He stabs me in the chest with his meaty finger. “No, he’s at a work function. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in.”
He grins and I want to smack it off his face.
“In the neighborhood,” I repeat flatly. “You live twenty minutes in the opposite direction.”
