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Her hair was midnight black, pulled up into two precise pigtails fastened by two pink bows. She was wearing a pink tutu, a Nirvana tee, and black combat boots. My kind of girl.
And though there were hints of it in the fragility of her petite frame and paleness of her skin, she didn’t look sick. She was extremely gorgeous with a wide smile of her own, first for her father, then for me.
“Hi, I’m Clara.” She waved without an ounce of self-consciousness.
I grinned at her because even though I was sometimes considered a bitch, I wasn’t the kind that didn’t smile at young children, especially young children about to be admitted for a bone marrow transplant.
“I’m Calliope.”
She gave me an assessing gaze. “Are you a princess?”
I let out a half bark, half laugh that surprised even me then cleared my throat. “Um, no way, Jose. Absolutely not. Nope.”
Clara continued studying me. “Thought I’d check.”
I couldn’t help but smile at this child’s simultaneously serious but playful energy. She somehow had the intensity of her father and the light aura of her uncle.
“I like your shoes.” She pointed down at my heels.
“Then you have good taste.” I gave her a wink. “I like yours too.”
“Daddy says I’m too young for heels.” She gave her father a frown that was adorable. “These are the next best thing.” She held out a foot for appraisal.
I looked at them, nodding. “I wholeheartedly agree.”
She then noticed the box in my hand. “Is that cake?” she screeched.
“It is. My sister-in-law baked it for you.”
“Awesome!” She held up rock and roll fingers. “Are you coming in to have some?”
I shook my head with a quick glance to her father, who looked appropriately horrified by his daughter’s invitation.
I wasn’t sure if he wasn’t a people person or if he wasn’t a ‘me’ person. Not that he knew me, but if his brother kissed and told, he might.
“I just came to drop it off, and I wouldn’t want to steal a slice,” I told Clara with the warmth I reserved for my nieces and nephews.
“You must!” She burst forward and reached for my hand, putting delicate pressure on my arm before pulling.
I could’ve resisted. I was stronger than a four-year-old, obviously. But only a demon would. And I wasn’t quite a demon. Not yet at least.
I let Clara Shaw drag me into her house, past her father—who looked as if he were being dragged to the executioner as he closed the door.
That made me swallow a smile. Male discomfort was always amusing. Beau Shaw did not want me in his house, but his daughter did, and it seemed that he’d do anything for his daughter.
And I might have too.
I wanted something from Clara, though.
I wanted her to give me hope.
We ate cake, Beau sitting stoically, frowning every moment his daughter wasn’t looking at him while smiling genuinely every time her attention went in his direction. Clara chatted away,frosting smearing on her nose with each bite. After she decided she was done with the cake, she dragged me to her room to show me her collection of rocks and to have a tea party.
The room itself was amazing. A canopy bed, black mosquito net cloaking it. Fairies hung from fishing twine. Typical girl toys and dolls mixed with spiders, large textbooks and what looked like an old clock radio.
Without hesitation, I kicked off my heels and sat down at the designated tea area, this not being my first rodeo with young children. Though the other guests at this tea party were not dolls; they were toy dinosaurs and insects. This chick was a little weird. I loved that.
Beau had silently followed us from the dining room to Clara’s bedroom, standing sentinel as if he thought I was about to unhinge my jaw and eat his daughter whole.