“Daddy,” she whispered, leaning in with a conspirator’s smile, “can we do this again? The steak?”
“Perhaps,” I said, brushing a curl from her cheek.
She grinned, knowing my “perhaps” was always a promise. Before I could straighten, she pressed her pinky against mine, demanding the oath sealed. I hooked it with my own, ridiculous as it was, and her laughter rang out as if she’d won a battle.
The twins bowed politely, murmuring their thanks, and slipped after her as she darted inside. I watched until the doors closed, her grin still etched in my mind.
They had walked more quietly than she had, their steps careful, eyes lowered. Their words were respectful, their bows proper, yet something lingered in their gaze. Not fear. Not doubt.
Hope.
A hope I dared not touch.
From inside the clas
