Josh nods sheepishly while Emma herds the girls into the kitchen. He walks over to the sofa and sits down opposite me. Gingerly, he reaches for the gaming device the girls have abandoned.
There’s just something about this boy. Maybe it’s the sad brown eyes that make him seem so much older. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s more observant than talkative. Maybe it’s how, despite his size, he feels the need to protect Emma and the girls.
I can relate to him. And even with full-blown adults, that’s not something I feel often.
I gesture with my eyes to the canapé dish. “I like the plate.”
He shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “My mom made it in a pottery class when I was three. She had me dip my hands in paint to decorate it.” His voice dips low when he mentions his mother. “She died when I was f
