11
Midori gripped Kimmei’s hand tightly as they navigated the crunch of Times Square. In the past, she’d scoffed at the parents who put their children on those doggie leashes as they went out for a stroll. Today, she wished she had an adolescent-sized Bjorn carrier when an oversized Elmo came at them, armed with a friendly grin and paws wide open.
“Omigosh, mommy! Have you ever seen buildings so tall?”
Kimmei’s head tilted so far back, Midori thought the child would fall backwards. Midori had to admit the city was much changed since the decade she’d catwalked these streets. It was a much more family-friendly atmosphere, with clean streets and chain restaurants. But she still kept her child close, knowing first hand that looks could be deceiving.
Guy Rumpel had promised Midori the moon
