Page 54 of Saving Little Lina: Part Two

But I wouldn't let it last. "Relax, Daddy," I teased, nudging him gently. "Let us Littles enjoy our moment! Don't worry, we'll come up with some fantastically outrageous ways to spend your share too."

"Oh, I expect nothing less," Hank boomed back, the hint of a smirk finally appearing.

It was the breakthrough the tension needed. In a rush, all four of us were caught up in laughter and plans, a mix of absurd proposals and the first kernels of genuine ideas starting to form.

Once settled, I turned to face Hank and Joe. "Okay, Team Daddy," I began with mock seriousness. "If we're supposed to make magic happen together, I have a few demands."

Mike chimed in, adopting an equally exaggerated formality. "Yes, we, Team Little, insist on these non-negotiable terms!"

Joe just raised an eyebrow. "Try us."

"Demand One," I began dramatically, "No boring team-building exercises. If we're going to win hearts and minds for Liltech, we need to inject some actual fun."

"Deal," Hank replied, "on the condition that 'fun' doesn't mean making me dress up in that dinosaur onesie I saw earlier."

His expression was so comically horrified that Mike and I doubled over in laughter.

Mike took the playful torch with gusto. "Demand Two: Unlimited supply of energy drinks! Our creative genius thrives on artificial sweeteners and questionable ingredients."

"Counter offer," Hank's voice was all business, "We'll get the energy drinks... if you keep it out of my sight. And by the caseload, you’ll need to prove yourselves to deserve that kind of sugar rush."

I took my own turn, an idea already sparking. "Demand Three: We need free range. Let us do some spontaneous field research while working out copy. Maybe in a toy store... or, hey, an indoor playground!"

Joe and Hank glanced at each other. With a sigh, Joe shrugged. "If it truly adds to our research... alright. But let’s stick to the toy store. I fear your team needs better judgment around bouncy castles."

Despite our stark differences, there was genuine respect beneath the teasing.

Suddenly, Hank broke our banter with a smile. "Littles," he began, "we're more than impressed with what you've shown us. This campaign can't be about just structure and security. It needs your joy, your whimsy."

I felt the grin widen across my own face. Here it was, the start of something special. And maybe, the final result would be something perfect - a mix of discipline and delight, with enough room for all of us to be exactly who we needed to be.

THE DRIVE OVER TO DEAN'S PLACE was filled with an uncharacteristic silence. We were both worried about my birthfather’s mental health. When we pulled up to that shabby apartment building, a sense of heaviness settled over me.

Dean opened the door a crack, and as he did, his eyes caught on Hank. It was a fleeting look, one I couldn't fully decipher, but I did catch the hint of desperation flickering within them.

"Look, um," Dean's usually gentle voice held a new rawness, "could I ask a favor?"

Hank, ever the protector, straightened instantly. "Anything."

Dean fumbled with the faded hem of his ratty T-shirt. "Lina... it means the world to me, her wanting to spend time with me. Could you... can you promise to look after her? If ever... whenever she needs it?"

My heart twisted. Perhaps he sensed his mental struggle might take him under, leaving me without the parent I hadn't even properly found yet?

Before I could voice my thoughts, Hank's response broke through – sure and steady. "You have my word, Dean. Absolutely."

As Hank turned to leave, his concerned gaze met mine. He knew his promise to my estranged father held more weight than either of us cared to admit.

Inside Dean's apartment, the weight of his sorrow pressed against me like a physical fog. No colorful artwork, only dull water stains on the ceiling. A thin thread of dust coated the lone bookshelf, holding half-read paperbacks with their spines cracked and forgotten. Dean himself moved with a slowness thatwhispered of exhaustion far more profound than a lack of sleep. This wasn't just a bad day; it felt like a lifetime swallowed by sadness.

He gestured me toward the worn-out couch, his movements mechanical. We both stared out the dusty window, its grayness a perfect echo of the atmosphere thick between us.

"So," I offered, voice small, desperate to spark some life, "How were those job interviews you mentioned last time?"

"Ah, yeah. Didn't amount to much," he replied, his eyes never leaving the dreary outside view. "Place seemed stuffy, wasn't my style." The words dripped out without inflection. It wasn't just the job search failing; it was the apathy bleeding through.

"Maybe… it just takes time," I tried, the words tasting weak on my tongue. "Sometimes good things don't appear on the first try."

"Time..." He said the word as if unfamiliar with the concept. "That's a luxury some folks don't seem to have. It's like… this constant rain outside. There's no break, no sun peeking through, just... a never-ending downpour. Gets to you after a while."

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