7. January 18, Tuesday #2
Her throat tightened. She kept her voice soft and warm. “No, honey. The universe isn’t mad at you. Not even a little.” His shoulders loosened by a fraction, and she added, more carefully, “The universe doesn’t get angry at kids. I was just being silly and…” She faltered.
Ilya stepped in smoothly. “Actually, if Jayden doesn’t want the lucky pen—”
“No!” Jayden lunged forward so fast his anxiety disappeared into outrage. “I do. I want the penny.”
Relief unknotted Zoey’s stomach so abruptly she almost laughed.
She glanced at Ilya, grateful. He answered with a quick wink that did entirely unhelpful things to her pulse.
Ignoring that with all the dignity she could muster, she leaned in and cupped Jayden’s cheek lightly.
“Ready?”
He nodded.
She closed her eyes, hummed dramatically, then gasped and reached behind his ear.
When she revealed the coin, Jayden’s whole face exploded with wonder. “I knew it!” he shouted. “You’re magic. For real.”
Zoey laughed, warmth spilling through her chest. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Tell me. How do you feel about interest?”
Jayden blinked at her. Lost.
Turning to Ilya, she said in a mock-solemn voice, “I think he’s entitled to a little interest on his penny deferment.”
“Absolutely,” Ilya agreed gravely. “At least the federal rate.”
Zoey nodded. “Fortunately, I know someone who’s been suspiciously lucky in the market.”
She reached behind Ilya’s ear and produced a quarter, making a great show of polishing it on his shirt.
Jayden dissolved into giggles.
“Wow,” Zoey said, scandalized. “This poor coin is filthy. Sitting behind Ilya’s ear has really done a number on it. A little polish and…oh. Look at that. Another one.”
She kept going, pulling coins from Ilya’s shoulder, his sleeve, the space behind his neck, and once from the fold of his elbow, where she absolutely did not need to notice how warm and solid he felt under her fingertips.
By the end, Jayden was flat-out laughing, the kind of breathless, helpless laughter that turned his whole body loose.
Zoey rocked back on her heels, lost her balance, and caught herself on Ilya’s forearm. The contact sent a quick spark up through her hand. She looked up.
His gaze met hers—amusement, heat, and something quieter beneath both—and her stomach dipped.
She jerked her focus back to Jayden. “Next trick,” she said, clearing her throat. “The disappearing coin.” She palmed it, waved her hand, and made it reappear behind Jayden’s ear.
He shrieked with delight.
Ilya leaned in to inspect her technique, his shoulder brushing hers.
Another tiny jolt. Zoey ignored that too. Or tried to.
As Jayden ran off to show the other kids his magic money, Zoey stayed on the rug one beat longer than necessary.
Her hands still hummed from touching Ilya. Her chest still ached from the look on Jayden’s face when he’d asked if the universe was mad at him. And underneath both of those things was a deeper ache, steadier and more familiar.
For a child.
For family.
For the chance to be the adult who looked at a kid and made them feel safe instead of tolerated.
Ilya nudged her shoulder.
“You okay?”
She swallowed. “Yeah,” she lied. “Just… thinking.”
He didn’t push. But something in his face said he heard every word she hadn’t said.
She mumbled something about needing more photos and got to her feet before he could look at her too closely.
Escaping back to the kitchen doorway, she lifted the camera like a shield while she took several very deliberate breaths.
Through the lens, she pretended to focus on a group of teenagers laughing as they compared their cookies to various X-rated body parts.
Honestly, teenagers were exhausting. Also, kind of hilarious.
As Ilya migrated over to a small group of teens who began teasing him immediately, Zoey exhaled again.
What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she suddenly feel strange around Ilya?
Nope. She wasn’t doing that here. She redirected hard and forced herself to focus on the laughter and teasing around her.
She’d have to talk to Babs about volunteering here more in her free time.
Seeing how bright Jayden lit up…Zoey had a feeling she would be doing lots of magic tricks for kids in her future.
“It can be a bit much.”
Zoey jumped and lowered the camera.
A teenage girl stood beside the wall, shoulders curled in, arms crossed tightly over her middle. She wore long sleeves despite the warmth of the house, the cuffs pulled down over part of her hands. Her expression held that practiced teenage blankness that usually meant she noticed everything.
“What?” Zoey asked.
The girl tipped her chin toward the noise. “This. The whole thing.” Her voice was flat, but not rude. “It gets loud. People act like this stuff is always fun, but sometimes it’s just…a lot.”
She wasn’t wrong. But Zoey had the feeling the girl wasn’t only talking about noise. “I’m Zoey.” She grinned and reached out her hand to the girl.
After a surprised pause, the teenager shook her hand with the wariness of a zebra being greeted by a hippo. “Madison.”
At what age did teens start shaking hands when greeting people? Zoey added the research to her to-do list.
They stood side by side for a second, watching the kitchen chaos. One little kid inhaled a gooey chocolate-chip cookie Ty made. Another painstakingly covered one of Bobby’s sugar cookies in enough sprinkles to qualify as a murder weapon to a diabetic.
The room buzzed with warmth.
Madison looked untouched by it. Or maybe not untouched. Just careful.
“You don’t like baking?” Zoey asked gently.
Madison snorted once. “Does it look like I need another cookie?”
Zoey’s eyes dipped reflexively toward her body, then snapped immediately back up.
Well.
Great.
Excellent work, Zoey.
“Moderation is good for everyone,” she said lightly, recovering as best she could. “Also, you don’t have to eat cookies to participate. Sometimes the fun is just making them…or mocking everyone else’s technique if that’s the vibe.”
A tiny huff escaped Madison’s nose.
Progress.
“They don’t really plan this stuff with the older kids in mind,” Madison said after a moment. “Which is fine, I guess. The little ones like baking and crafts and all that. But if you’re older, mostly you just kind of…stand around and try not to get in the way.”
The words were casual. The hurt underneath them was not.
Zoey’s chest tightened. “Older kids deserve fun too,” Zoey said quietly.
Madison cut her a quick look, sharp and assessing, like she was checking whether Zoey meant that or just liked the sound of herself saying it.
Zoey held the gaze. “I mean it,” she added.
Madison looked away first. She totally didn’t believe her. Interesting.
She’d have to ask Ilya what were some things that would appeal to the older kids so they could have their time to shine too.
Behind them, Babs stormed into the room like a tiny avenging angel and made a beeline for a cluster of teenage boys who were holding frosted cookies in anatomically creative positions and howling with laughter.
“Xander!”
Madison’s mouth twitched, the first real crack in her cool expression.
“Babs keeps everyone on their toes,” Zoey said.
“She terrifies the players,” Madison replied.
“As she should.”
That earned a small, unexpected smile.
Zoey noticed then how carefully done Madison’s braids were, the pattern intricate and neat against her scalp. “By the way,” Zoey said, “your hair is gorgeous.”
Madison froze.
Zoey kept her tone easy. “Seriously. That braid pattern is beautiful.”
Madison’s gaze dropped to the floor. “My friend did it.”
“Well, your friend is talented.”
A faint flush touched Madison’s cheeks.
Zoey lifted the camera a little. “Would you mind if I took a picture? Nothing gets used without Babs’s approval and yours. I just…” She smiled. “I’d love to remember the braid pattern.”
Madison shrugged in a way that was trying very hard to look indifferent. “Whatever.” Which, in teenager, probably meant yes but don’t make it weird.
“Perfect,” Zoey said. “No smiling required. I respect artistic integrity.”
That got another tiny mouth twitch.
Zoey lifted the camera. “Just look wherever you want,” she said. “No performance.”
Madison’s eyes flicked toward the kitchen first, then the hallway, then somewhere over Zoey’s shoulder.
Guarded.
Watchful.
Old, somehow, in a way that had nothing to do with age.
Zoey took a couple of shots, some showing Madison completely, some just capturing the braids.
Then lowered the camera slightly.
“Want to see?”
Madison hesitated, then stepped closer.
Zoey angled the display toward her.
On the tiny screen, Madison’s face was all sharp intelligence and restraint, the braids framing a look that felt far older than the girl standing beside her.
Madison stared at it for a second. Then said, almost suspiciously, “I don’t look weird.”
“No,” Zoey said. “I didn’t say you did. I said they were gorgeous.”
Madison went very still. For one small second, something flickered across her face. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“You’re welcome.”
They fell into silence again, easier…ish this time.
From the living room came a burst of shrieking laughter. Zoey glanced up just in time to see Ilya round the corner with a little kid clinging koala-style to his back while two others chased him with plastic lightsabers.
He caught her eye for one split second. Just long enough for her pulse to misfire. Then he disappeared again into the chaos.
Beside her, Madison noticed.
Zoey didn’t turn her head, but she felt it; the shift in the girl’s attention, the quick side glance, the silent filing away of information. Teenagers missed nothing.
Zoey swallowed and pressed the cool edge of the camera briefly to her cheek.
She stayed beside Madison a while longer, letting the shutter click and click and click as the rhythm steadied her.
And when Madison didn’t move away, Zoey had the odd, fleeting sense that this moment mattered. Maybe not now. But maybe later.