Page 48 of The Night
“But the fire alarms went off, and —”
“Hazel,” I interrupted, tugging on one of her curls. “That’s no big deal. They did what they were supposed to do and reminded you that there was a problem before a real fire could start, which means you didn’t get hurt and Sam didn’t get hurt and Fia didn’t get hurt and your dad didn’t get hurt. That’s what matters. Next time, you’ll pay more attention. Won’t you?”
She nodded solemnly.
“So what’s the big deal?” I asked. “I’mdefinitelynot going to ask you to leave.”
“You’re not?”
“Fu… Um.For goodness sakeno. No way. I wish… I wish you could stay longer,” I finished lamely. “Long as you like.”
This was so not a conversation I needed to have with Hazel. At least not until I’d had it with Liam.
“Alrighty!” Sam cleared her throat and wrapped her blonde hair in some kind of messy knot at the top of her head. “Well. I can see you two have this under control, so I’m gonna bounce. Have Liam text me if you need me Friday. And if not, I’ll see you Saturday, Queen Hazel?”
Hazel nodded and stood up to give Sam a hug. “Sorry about the toast.”
“Girl, not even a problem,” Sam said. “Like your…Gideon… said. It happens.” She grabbed her jacket…and my plan for a quiet, peaceful evening with Liam went up in smoke like so much Christmas Princess Toast.
“Okay,” I said to Hazel, once the front door had shut behind Sam. “Now we have to clean up. You ready?”
“Me?”
“Of course. You’re gonna help me clean it up, and then we’re gonna make more.”
Her smile was devastating. “Really?”
“Would I lie about Party Christmas Princess Tea Toast?”
“You don’t even know how tomake it.” She rolled her eyes as I picked her up and set her on the counter next to the sink. “I know because I made up the recipe myself, with only a little help from Sam.”
Twenty minutes later, we’d cleaned up the baking sheet, made new Princess Toast—which turned out to be baked cinnamon toast made with red and green sugar, which was just as appetizing as it sounded—and filled the kettle with water to make tea. I’d also gotten Hazel to eat a few bites of chicken and broccoli left over from the night before, which I figured offset the cinnamon sugar.
Because that was how nutrition worked.
“Do you have teacups?” Hazel asked after the kettle whistled.
“Nope. ’Fraid not. These mugs are the best I can do.” I nudged the plain, blue-and-brown stoneware mugs with my fingertip.
Her mouth twisted. “They’re fine, I guess. I have teacups back in Boston. They’rebeautiful.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. They were my mother’s when she was my age.”
I glanced down at Hazel, who was busy arranging our “tea” in the mugs—an actual tea bag she’d unearthed from some cupboard for me, scoops of hot chocolate and mini-marshmallows for her.
She’d never mentioned her mother before. Neither had Liam.
“It was nice of her to give them to you. For my twelfth birthday, I got a signed football that had been my dad’s when he was younger. I still have it.”
“Did your dad die too?” she asked innocently, and my heart broke a little for her… and a little more for Liam.
Shit.
“No. My dad’s still alive. Your mom died, Bug?”
She nodded. “And my dad. When I was two. And I went to live with Daddy, and I was ahandful. Pour the water, Gideon!”