Page 144 of Creatures that Breathe

Leni doesn’t look away from Atlas when she lightly lifts her shoulders, tilts her head in the way she used to. “He did say please.”

38

Cross

not the beach

“Do I even like these?” Leni asks between her second and third giant-eared cookie. White sugar sticks to her upper lip, and her pupils resemble those of a hungry cat with a one legged mouse in its crosshairs as she looks up at me, expectant.

I resist the urge to laugh.

Voice cutting through the crescendoing symphony from a movie I’ve seen, but never really watched, floating from speakers above, she asks, “Cross?”

She could compel me to wage war with Olympus with that one word.

If she ever adds please, I’ll take on the Titans too.

Rounded plastic juts into my shoulder blade as I sit back in my chair. “I don’t know. Do you like them?”

Her mouth curls into a smile as she examines the confection on her family-sized plate. “Obviously yes, I’m just waiting for you to inform me I swore off sugar in my past life and that’s why this tastes like compressed happiness.” Another greedy bite, and the mouse loses an ear.

“You’re smiling,” she points out.

Even though my stomach twists uncomfortably at the implication of her words, I force my smile wider.

She seems to like it, judging by the stretch of pink on her cheeks.

I picked Florida for sandy beaches and palm trees and waves, but once Leni spotted the Happiest Place on Earth billboard, she deemed it a crucial stop. I imagined roller coasters, fireworks, pictures with oversized gloved rodents.

This is our third bakery.

It’s a day of bucking expectations. I’m in a dark green shirt and jeans, per her insistence. And per mine, in perfect compliment with her miserably short, painfully frilly sundress, she wears a silver gift shop crown.

A crown, not a tiara.

For a queen. Not a fucking princess.

Appearing dazed, Leni rids the mouse of his other ear, and nose, and neck. Her frost eyes slide shut, rapture softening her features.

I swallow hard, pinch the seam of my pocket on my thigh. “You’re on a sugar high.”

Innocent eyes peer at me. “Is it dangerous?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you through it.” I push my plate toward her. “Have mine too.”

“You don’t like it?” She’s already reaching for the double chocolate brownie.

I shuffle our deck of princess themed cards on the table. “I like this more.”

“Fondling cards?” A smirk.

Pyro. “I like seeing you eat. When we met, it was difficult to get you to eat. Violence made you sick, and I …” I look down at my hands to confess. “There was plenty of violence.”

I had wanted her to see it, wanted to show her how terrified she should be of me. I’d wanted to force her to run because I wasn’t strong enough to let go.

“Are you ever going to deal?”

“Are you ever going to make a bet?” I retort playfully.

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