Page 94 of Winning Brynn

Issy shakes herself out of whatever trance she was in, returning the smile—though, it's obviously forced—and turns around for her suitcase. "Where should I put these?"

With my free arm, I motion her toward the room that used to be mine. "In my room."

"Oh. Are we sharing?"

"No." I chuckle. "I'll sleep in Leo's room."

Her forehead creases. "Then where will he sleep?"

"In his room." I pause, confused by her confusion. "With me."

She blinks.

I blink.

She blinks again.

Then she barks a sharp laugh, shakes her head, nods it, then shakes it again. "Yes, of course, silly me. So, my bags go in here, yes?" She opens the door to my old room, looking around at the green walls, linen bedspread, and soft wood accents. "This is beautiful. Thank you.”

She’s being weird.

I mean, she’s always polite and gracious—that’s not new. But her nervousness is. She’s always been quiet, gloomy on occasion, as if something is weighing heavy on her shoulders, yet she’s always conducted herself with at least some degree of confidence.

But I see none of that now.

She’s tugging on the sleeves of her sweater and shifting on her feet in a way that screams of anxiety.

Something must be really wrong.

Cautiously, I lead her back out of the room to the main living area. I watch her with a head tilt as she settles on the couch, her gaze flying across every corner of the space, knees bouncing, hands twisting in her lap.

"Dude, are you okay?”

“What?” Her eyes snap back to mine. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

My brows raise in disbelief as I bob Salem up and down on my hip. She babbles a sound that would be nonsensical to anyone else, aside from her father, but it’s one I’ve come to know well over the last week or so. "Dew. Dew."

"You want juice, ladybug?"

She gives an emphatic nod of her little head, flapping her hands in excitement. It takes so much of her concentration to use her words, so much effort to communicate effectively, and it often leads to frustration when we can't decipher what she's saying. So, she loves it when I'm able to understand her. And her sounds have grown so much clearer recently that I'm blessed with the same joyous reaction more and more.

Grabbing her sippy cup off the coffee table, I pass it into her waiting hands. She sucks from it loudly until she's finished then throws it straight onto the rug. All the while, Issy watches on with something like anguish swirling in her eyes.

"Can I hold her?" she asks in a small, tentative voice.

I perk up. Maybe holding Salem will be what she needs to bring her out of her shell. I can’t say I’m not surprised, though. I’ve never known Issy to be interested in children, but Salem is cute enough to tempt even the most child-averse person into wanting to hold her.

"Yeah, of course. Fair warning, though, she’s only been raised with men, so she can be a bit temperamental with women sometimes. Just don’t take it personally if she gets upset."

Issy forces a terse smile. "She likes you, though." There’s no bite to her words, no snark or bitterness, just a sort of curious observation.

"Yeah, but she's had time to build a relationship with me."

I don't mention that Salem took to me the moment we met. Or how she fit so perfectly into my arms that day, looking at me as if I was the most fascinating creature she'd ever seen, or the surprise on Leo's face when he saw us together. I don’t want it to seem like I’m bragging.

Instead, I slowly lower Salem onto Issy's lap, kneeling in front of them in case Salem starts to fuss. Which she does. Instantly.

My hands fly out to take the baby back, but Issy shoos them away. "It's okay. I've got it."

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