Page 102 of My Lucky Charm

I look at my daughter, who is sitting smugly at the counter, eyes pinballing between Eloise and me.

“She said she does,” Scarlett says with a grin.

I shoot her a look. “Okay. We might need to have a talk about appropriate conversation.”

“Mom always says when you think something good about someone, you should say it out loud,” Scarlett says.

“I like that rule,” Eloise says. “I think . . . you’re a very smart girl.”

“See? That makes me happy,” Scarlett says. “And Eloise, I think you’re amazing and fun and nice and pretty.”

“Aw, thanks, Red.”

“Red?” I feel my forehead pull.

“Nickname.” Eloise says this like I wouldn’t understand.

“You gave her a nickname?” I ask. Does she know that’s kind of my thing?

“Yeah,” Eloise says. “It’s shorter than saying her name, but it means the same thing.”

Huh. It’s a good one. Why didn’t I think of it myself?

Scarlett turns to me. “Now you, Dad.”

“Now me what?”

“Say something nice about Eloise.”

Oh geez. What is happening? I half-laugh, looking at Eloise, a million compliments running through my mind, a good seventy-five percent of them borderline inappropriate.

“Come on, Dad,” Scarlett says. “You think she’s beautiful or smart or fun—it’s easy to say nice things about someone.”

Eloise squints at me, amusement all over her face. “Yeah, come on, Dad. Let’s hear it.”

I’m trapped. By an almost eleven-year old. And by the woman I’m struggling to remember is my assistant.

I try not to squirm. “I think you’re . . .” But I shake my head. “This is dumb, we aren’t doing this.” I try to change the subject. “And we aren’t doing an ad campaign either.”

Eloise hasn’t budged. “Well, I’m highly offended you couldn’t think of one nice thing to say about me.”

“Can you think of one nice thing to say about me?” I ask, straightening.

She pretends to be searching the air, eyes moving back and forth like she’s reading an invisible book. “Hmm, I could say you’re welcoming and friendly, like a big, squishy marshmallow, but—” she looks at me, playfulness on her face. It’s adorable.

She’s insulting me, and I think she’s adorable.

But then she says, “Wait, none of those things are true. So, no, now that you mention it, I can’t. But I’m much more likable than you.” She grins.

I’m bad at this sort of conversation, so I shake my head and say, “Cute.”

Eloise lifts two victorious fists in the air. “Scarlett, did you hear that? He said I’m cute! Woo hoo!”

Scarlett giggles.

I grunt.

And then my daughter looks at me. “So, can we do this photo thingie?”

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