She glanced up at him, then at me, then back down.
“Flowers,” she whispered.
I sat across from her. “They’re really pretty,” I said. “Do you like flowers?”
Tiny nod.
“Sunflowers.”
“Hi, Sophie,” I said. “I’m Megan. Can I sit with you?”
She shrugged and nudged the crayon closer to me.
It felt like a yes.
We saw her again the next week. And the next.
On the second visit, she marched over with a beat-up book.
“Can we read it with you?” Daniel asked.
She hesitated, then wedged herself between us on the little couch. She “read” the pictures; he did ridiculous voices.
She tried to hide her smile behind the cardboard pages.
In the fenced yard, she slipped her hand into his without looking up.
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