Page 188 of Wild Card 13

“When?”

“Morning.”

“It is currently morning.”

“Early morning.”

Lo’s expression sharpened. “Was the sun up?”

Arlo looked at me. “This is where she gets scary.”

“She learned from me,” I said.

Lo smiled serenely. “Baby, I was terrifying before either of you had teeth.”

Freya lifted her glass. “To Lo.”

“To Lo,” Bea echoed.

Arlo leaned down and kissed Lo’s cheek again, quick and affectionate. “I’ll eat.”

“You’ll sit down for five minutes before the lunch rush,” Lo corrected.

He laughed, and the sound warmed something old in me. Arlo had lost a mother too. Not in the same way I had, because no two children got abandoned in identical shapes, but close enough that Irecognized the wound. Lo had never tried to fill that space by force. She had simply kept showing up with food and advice and birthday candles and the exact kind of attention that made absence feel less like an indictment.

Somewhere along the way, Arlo had started letting her love him.

So had I.

Arlo straightened and looked around the table. “Try not to let them bully you too much.” Then he gathered two empty side plates and looked at Lo. “Bill comes to me.”

Lo waved one elegant hand. “Absolutely not.”

“Lo.”

“Arlo James Thomas, I did not put on cashmere and come up to this delightful little snow globe to let you deny me the pleasure of spoiling my girls.”

Arlo’s mouth curved. “Your girls?”

Lo looked around the table, and for one small, dangerous second, the whole igloo seemed to still around her. “Yes,” she said simply. “My girls.”

Arlo’s expression changed first, his teasing giving way to something quieter. “All right,” he said with a shrug.

Lo smiled. “Thank you.”

“But I’m sending dessert anyway.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Arlo opened the door, letting in a brief swirl of cold and rooftop noise. “I’ll check back.” Then he was gone, stepping into the moving warmth of North Line, already greeting another table before the door sealed behind him.

The restaurant moved around us beyond the transparent walls. Servers crossed the rooftop with trays balanced high. Snow fell in clean white lines through the air. A family in the next igloo laughed over something I could not hear.

Inside ours, Lo reached for the teapot and refilled Bea’s cup.

Freya stole one of my potatoes.

I slapped her hand. “You’re a menace.”