But I shake that off just like every other remotely parental thought I get around her. Not my kid, not my problem. I give Bambi aquick nod, then wave at Willow when she spots me leaving.
“Goodnight, solnishka.”
Solnishka. Little sun. A bright spot in a dark desert.
I don’t know who or what has possessed me. Phrases like that keep flying out of my mouth—things that only a man whogenuinely cares would say.
That same stranger sitting under my skin makes me pause just outside the solarium door so I can listen in on their conversation.Bambi keeps asking questions to figure out what Willow wants, but the kid is too shy to actually answer. I hear a softlymuttered, “Mommy doesn’t have a lot of money,” and Bambi’s richer tone assures her there’s nothi
