I pinch the bridge of my nose as he changes tactics. “Yeah, I’ve got a bit of a flight risk to deal with.”
“Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“You’re gonna tell me either way.” My tone is a grumble, but there’s no anger behind it.
“Smart man,” he chuckles. “Choose to take it or not. Frankie is a wild card and it shows. If she wants to run free, you gotta let her. She’ll never be satisfied otherwise.”
“Like I said, she won’t be sticking around after Ronnie is done with her. Until then, I think we’ve reached an understanding.”
My uncle stands, stretching his back. “Then you’ve got it taken care of. Keep up the good work, kid.”
Ronnie’s voice startles me out of my creative headspace. “What’re you doing?”
“Sweet Jeeee-pers!”
I drop the permanent marker onto the tile. It leaves a long black line that’s probably not coming out. My lips curl into a grin. Works for me.
The little girl scoots closer, reminding me that her impromptu nap is over and she’s waiting for an answer.
I reclaim the fallen Sharpie. “Just doing some… uh, coloring.”
“On my daddy’s boots?” She plops down beside me in the entryway.
“Yep.” My limited artistic abilities get busy doodling a heart.
Ronnie leans over to inspect my design so far. “Why?”
“They’re a bit boring.” I hold up the left Tecovas that’s still untouched. “Wanted to make them fancy.”
But that’s a lie. This is just a petty way to take a stab at Byron. These are the only boots I’ve seen him wear. I’m sure the leather is broken in just right. Now he’ll have to walk around with my handiwork on his feet.
“Can I help?”
My hand pauses at the innocent question. “Ummm…”
“Pretty pleeeeaaaase? I’m gonna make Daddy’s boots super prettiful. Promise!”
It’s impossible to deny her, especially when she sticks out her bottom lip and whines. The wounded puppy look spreads to her eyes to secure my undoing.
I pass her a metallic silver marker. It’s bright and extra obnoxious against the supple leather. If I’m going to land myself in hot water for this, we might as well make a big splash together. Ronnie snatches the unblemished left boot and settles in for destruction.
While putting a massive stick figure front and center, she glances over at the block letters I’m writing across the top of the other one. “What’s that say?”
“Frankie wins,” I chirp.
“Wins what?”
There’s a brief hesitation from me, filled with plausible explanations. “I win bragging rights for coloring this boot.”
“Oooooh,” she croons. “Do I win too?”
“Of course, kiddo. Want me to write it for you?”
“Uh-huh. Put it here.” She drags her finger along the side.
“Perfect spot. Everyone will see it.” I grip onto the sole and get started. “The letters are just outlines. You can fill them in when I’m done.”
Ronnie watches me write her name in huge font. “This is soooo cool. It’s like tattoos for Daddy’s boots.”