Sophie smiles.
August grins like he has successfully manipulated a room of adults, which he has.
Amelia kisses his forehead. “Be good.”
“I am good.”
“You are sometimes good.”
“That counts.”
She hugs him too tight for a second.
He lets her.
When she stands, her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t cry. She walks down the porch steps toward me like she has decided terror ain’t a good enough reason to stay put.
That is bravery.
The real kind.
Not the kind men brag about because they got into a bar fight and kept their teeth. The kind where a woman puts one boot in front of the other while every part of her body remembers running.
I hand her a helmet.
She takes it and frowns. “It says Queen Bitch.”
“Borrowed from Lottie.”
“I’m not wearing this.”
“Then you’re not riding.”
She looks at Sophie. “Do you have another?”
Sophie shakes her head, lips pressed together.
Traitor.
Amelia looks at the helmet again. “This feels like a setup.”
“It’s safety equipment.”
“It says Queen Bitch.”
“Accurate enough for tonight.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
Then she laughs.
Fuller this time.
I grin before I can stop it.
She pulls the helmet on, red mouth curved beneath it, and damn if she doesn’t look like trouble I would gladly let ruin my week.