She'd been waiting for me.
Not casually. Not the way a normal child waits for a guest—No. Rory had established a forward operating position at my front entrance with the tactical commitment of a Navy SEAL staking out a high-value target, except instead of night-vision goggles she had light-up sneakers and a yellow sundress that screamed I am five and I will destroy you with cuteness.
Dark curls in a ponytail that had surrendered to entropy about three hours ago.
Vibrating at a frequency that suggested her tiny body was converting pure excitement into nuclear energy, probably enough to power a small city or at least keep the neighborhood dogs barking for days.
I'd barely put the car in park.
"GODMAN!"
Jesus Christ.
