Derby’s eyes flick to Amelia. “Smart dinosaur.”
For one small second, something passes between them.
Not romance. Not yet.
Recognition, maybe.
The kind that happens when two wounded people hear the same word in different sentences.
Bad guys.
Amelia looks away first, clutching August tighter. “Thank you for carrying the boxes.”
Derby shrugs, uncomfortable with gratitude. “Ain’t like they’re made of gold.”
“No,” she says softly. “They’re not.”
I hear the rest of it anyway.
They are what she saved.
That matters more.
Derby steps in and sets the boxes near the dresser.
Amelia turns fast. “Careful with that one.”
He freezes. “Which one?”
“The bottom one.”
His hands come away from the cardboard like he has been handling explosives. “What’s in it?”
“Pictures. Papers. Some of my mother’s things.”
The photograph.
The bracelet.
The handwriting that put a crack through Legend’s hard face downstairs.
Derby’s expression shifts. “I set it easy.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me for caring about your stuff.”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
She doesn’t know what to do with that. Kindness.
He doesn’t seem to know what to do with having said it either. Derby’s not naturally kind.
I step between them with a small mercy. “The clothes on the dresser are clean. They’re mine, so the pants may be short, but they’re soft. There’s a bathroom across the hall. I can find child-size pajamas tomorrow if August needs them.”
Amelia looks down at herself like she has forgotten she is wearing clothes at all.
Her shirt is wrinkled and stretched at the shoulder from carrying August. Dust streaks one hip. There is a pale patch on her jeans where the fabric has worn thin. Her shoes are cheap canvas, one lace tied in two knots. Her wrist disappears beneath a sleeve she keeps pulling down without realizing it.