“So am I. I got a reputation.”
Her mouth twitches. “Your reputation survived the granny panties.”
“Barely.”
This time, the smile stays a little longer.
Then she whispers, “I’m scared.”
The words are so quiet I almost don’t catch them.
The honesty hits me harder than any flirtation could.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, keeping my voice low. “I know.”
“I hate that.”
“I know that too.”
“He always made me feel stupid for being scared.”
“He’s a weak man. Weak men need women scared so they feel big.”
Her eyes shine.
“That sounds like something Sophie would say.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“It was a compliment.”
“Still.”
She laughs softly, then looks back into the room at August. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Good.”
Her head turns back. “Good?”
“Means you ain’t pretending you got it all figured out. People who think they do are dangerous.”
“You think you have it figured out.”
“No. I think everybody else is stupid. Different thing.”
She looks at me like she wants to laugh and cry and sleep for a week.
“Good night, Derby,” she says.
“Night, Amelia No.”
Her mouth softens at the nickname, and I feel that look somewhere I have no business feeling it. Not only in my jeans.
Then she closes the door.
The lock clicks.
I sit there in the dim hallway, listening to the old jail breathe around us, and for the first time in years, I remember being a kid on the other side of a locked door, hoping the man outside would leave before my mother started crying again.