Page 76 of Cherish

“He is a wonder,” I say with an answering grin. Hudson shoots me a rueful look and mouths,Sorry, behind their backs, but I just shake my head. Because now that I’ve gotten over my initial sorrow at not having the same relationships with these people that I used to, I am totally on board the Hudson Appreciation Train.

He deserves a lot more of it than he’s gotten in his life.

I can’t help but notice when he glances at Tiola’s bag again, and I elbow him gently. “Go get her,” I murmur. “She’s learned her lesson.”

Hudson wastes no time fading to the backpack and flicking open the closure. He reaches in and scoops out the little umbra, cradling her in his arms and whispering nonsense in her ear. When she snuggles farther into the curve of his arm, I watch his shoulders relax and realize he was nervous she wouldn’t forgive him for teaching her a valuable lesson.

Biting me is one thing. Of course I’ll forgive her. But what happens when she bites someone really nasty? It’s best she learn the no-biting rule now—however painful the lesson is for Hudson.

He comes back over to the rest of us, swinging his hips left and right as he rocks Smokey in his arms. I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it, which makes my heart melt even more.

“Tomorrow morning, Arnst will draw a map showing you the best way to get to Adarie,” Maroly comments as she eventually leads us down the hallway to the same room we shared the last time we were here. “Then you can be on your way.”

We thank her again, but she waves away our gratitude before closing the door behind her.

Once we’re alone—or almost alone, considering Smokey is still snoozing in his arms—Hudson turns to me.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t even think of how it would feel for you to meet up with people you care about, none of whom can remember who you are or even that they’ve met you before.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. It’s fine. We didn’t know.”

He gives me a doubtful look.

“I’m serious. Was it a little weird when we first got here? Absolutely. But now I’m really enjoying it.”

“Enjoying it?” He looks downright disbelieving.

But I grin at him. “Are you kidding me? How could I not be enjoying this? I particularly love the whole Hudson-shrine thing they’ve got going on out there.”

He makes a give-me-a-break sound deep in his throat. “You don’t need to say that. The whole thing is bloody ridiculous, and we all know it.”

“I think it’sbloodywonderful. You deserve all the accolades. And that statue is freaking fantastic.”

“Where did they even get that thing?” he asks with a groan and a face palm.

“I have no idea. Maybe they had it made?”

“Had it made?” His accent is so thick with dismay that the words are barely recognizable now. “Don’t you think the whole thing is a bit wonky? I kept thinking they were winding me up, but how would they know to have that whole table set up and ready?”

“It’s not wonky at all!” I tell him. “It’s incredible. They even got your perfect little coif right.”

“They did not.” His tone brooks absolutely no argument, but when have I let that stop me?

“Oh, they absolutely did,” I tease. “It was brilliant! Now I just need you to pose for me.”

One eyebrow shoots up. “Pose for you.”

It’s not a question so much as an expression of horror—which makes it even harder for me not to burst out laughing.

“Oh, come on!” I urge. “Do the pose.”

In case he pretends to not know what pose I’m talking about, I mimic the statue myself. Head high, shoulders back, chest forward, hands on hips.

Now both brows are up. “Is that your poor attempt at an impression of Superman?”

“It’s my attempt at an impression of your statue, and you know it!” I shoot back. “Now, come on. Do the pose for me. Just once.”

“I don’t think so.”

---