She looks at Widowmaker.
Then at me.
“No.”
Fair.
I nod once. “Then we do it different.”
August wiggles in Sophie’s arms. “Can I ride?”
“No,” Amelia and Sophie say together.
“Rude,” he mutters.
I crouch near him. “Kid, when you’re older, taller, got your mama’s permission, my permission, Sophie’s permission, Legend’s permission, and a notarized statement from God, maybe.”
August frowns. “Who’s God?”
Sophie makes a choking sound.
Amelia closes her eyes. “We are not doing theology in the driveway.”
“He has questions,” I say.
“He has too many questions.”
“Smart kids do.”
That one makes her look at me different.
Soft.
Too soft.
I stand before that look gets under my cut.
August points at the bike. “What’s her name?”
Amelia’s brows lift. “The motorcycle has a name?”
“Of course she does,” Sophie says. “Men who claim they can’t discuss feelings will name an engine and call that healthy.”
I ignore her. “Widowmaker.”
Amelia stares at me. “Absolutely not.”
August gasps. “That’s cool.”
“It isn’t cool,” Amelia says. “It’s ominous.”
“It’s a bike, not a prophecy.”
“You named your motorcycle Widowmaker and expect me to climb on the back?”
“I didn’t name her.”
“Who did?”