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We’re silent on the ride home.

I’m seething over my conversation with Hartley that was forced because this little girl found it just a-okay to run away from home to the one person I’d marked as off-limits.

She’s seething over…whatever it is ten-year-old girls seethe over.

I’m ready to yell. I’m ready to unleash the anger and the fear I felt because of her.

But I don’t. I try to pull it together instead with a lot of deep breathing on the short ride home. I flip a quarter up into the air over and over when I’m at stoplights. I very slowly start to calm down.

I pull into the garage and cut the engine, but I don’t move for a beat. The girl, however, rips off her seatbelt, tosses open her door, then slams it shut. I watch as she storms into the house and slams that door, too, and I wonder if they make some sort of contraption that makes doors unslammable so she doesn’t destroy the frames in this rental.

I draw in a fortifying breath before I head inside, and when I finally do, first I trip over her shoes, and I find her near the kitchen table sobbing.

I sink to the floor beside her, and then I pull her down onto my lap and cradle her like a baby for a beat.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Her only answer is a sniffle.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit. “I know your world just changed, but so did mine, you know? I’m not trying to make this about me, but I’m doing the best I can, kid. I’m doing what I think is right for you, and you might not always agree with that, or with me , but we’re in this together. You can run all you want, but you’ll never be able to run away from your problems. Maybe I’m not one to talk about this shit because I’ve done it too, but you can run as fast as you want to and the problems will still be there staring you in the face when your legs give out. If there’s any one lesson I think we can both take from this, it’s that we’ll only get through the hard part if we stick through it together.”

She’s silent, but I know she’s listening.

“Do you want to talk about why you ran?” I finally ask. I’m still holding her, and she’s letting me. She’s leaning back into the arm held across her back in support, her head is resting on my chest, her legs are across my lap, and my other arm holds her behind her knees.

I want to ask her not why she ran but why she ran to Victoria, but it doesn’t seem important right now.

She swipes at a tear as it escapes her eyes. “I miss my mom.”

“I know, ladybug,” I murmur. Does Victoria remind her of her mom in some way? Or is it just the adult female presence she’s craving? “I know you do. What do you miss about her?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs a little, and it strikes me how little she actually is. “Her homecooked meals, for one.”

I laugh. “What’s your favorite thing she used to make you?”

“Macaroni and cheese with hot dogs cut up in it.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I got you macaroni for dinner tonight,” I point out.

“Yeah but it’s not the good stuff. It’s restaurant stuff. And there’s no hot dogs.” She sniffles and wipes more tears.

“What’s the good stuff?”

“The blue box, the one with the powder.”

“Kraft?” Hell, I can make that shit, and I can microwave a hot dog. It sounds nasty to me, but if it’s what the kid wants, it’s what the kid gets.

She nods. “Yeah, Kraft.”

I hug her toward me for just a beat, and then I press a soft kiss to her forehead because it just feels right to comfort her right now…and then I’ll comfort her with my kickass kitchen skills.

I release her from my grasp. “Go get your shoes on.”

Her brows dip. “For what?”

“You’ll see.”

She returns a second later, and then I direct her back out to the garage. I take her to the grocery store, where we stock up on the good macaroni and her favorite hot dogs, and I let her pick out two tubs of ice cream and we take a swing down the candy aisle, where she fills up the cart with sour candies to her heart’s content.

We head home, and I make her the good stuff. My first attempt at microwaving a hot dog results in it exploding all over my microwave, but I do a better job on my second attempt, and I only burn my finger a little when I take it out to cut it up into little chunks that I then mix into the macaroni.

But her laughter and her wide smile while she helps me make it worth every second of effort I put in, and when she pats her full tummy after her second bowl of ice cream with a smile playing at her lips, I feel like I finally did something right.

Now to replicate it all over again tomorrow.

I get her down to bed in her own room as has become our routine even though I know she’ll appear in my bed before I’m ready to call it a night, and I head back down to binge some true crime.

I don’t really have a little black book per se, but I scroll through my contacts as I try to find somebody, anybody, who I’d want to invite over for a quick romp in the backseat of my car in the garage.

I can’t really think of any other place where I could get a quick bang. My bed’s out. My guest room is no longer a guest room, and the couch is out. The backyard maybe? I’d be worried she’d catch me out there. Hell, I’d be worried in my garage, too, but I need to get my rocks off. My hand just ain’t cutting it anymore.

I blow out a breath as I scroll.

Tabby, Talia, Tamara, Tatum, Taylor…the list goes on, and not a single one is igniting any sort of spark in me.

Maybe Harper needs another sleepover and maybe I need a night at Coax to work off some of this energy.

And then she shows up in my brain again.

Her lips. Those soft, strawberry lips that pressed to mine for a moment that was far too short.

Fuck.

What is it about her?

Is it because she’s a challenge? Because she rejected me more than once now? Because she’s smarter than me and too good for me?

Is it because I only had that one little taste and now my body won’t stop until I have a second one? Or is it because she’s hot as fuck and has a tight little body that I want to find my way into?

I need something to get Victoria Hartley out of my mind, that’s for goddamn sure.

Why do I have a feeling that the only thing that’s going to get her out of my mind…is her?