Serenity Harbor. RaeAnne Thayne

especially since there will be other kids your age there.”

      She crossed her fingers on the steering wheel. She’d yet to see Milo truly interact with others his age. Twice when they had gone to the city park, other children had been playing there, but they seemed much younger than Milo. He had largely ignored them all while he made a road in the sand for his purple car.

      As was typical, he didn’t respond to her assertion and she couldn’t tell how much he understood. She had adopted the philosophy the first day that his level of understanding didn’t really matter. She would simply talk to him all the time about everything: her thoughts, concerns, Gabi, the awkward situation at her mom’s house. He didn’t appear to be bored, and she had to think that exposure to words and more words had to be beneficial.

      “I need your help carrying some things in,” she told him after she unhooked his booster. It wasn’t really true, since she had only one salad and a few stray supplies Kenzie had asked her to grab, but she also had learned early that Milo seemed to like being helpful.

      She handed him the small bag of craft supplies, picked up the salad, then took off for McKenzie’s store, Point Made Flowers and Gifts.

      Downtown Haven Point seemed busier than Katrina had seen it in a while, bustling with tourists and locals alike. Since Ben and Aidan had moved a new Caine Tech facility to town, new stores and restaurants had begun to open up in the previously shuttered businesses in town.

      It still wasn’t as busy as nearby Shelter Springs, which suited her just fine.

      Before they crossed the street, she reached down to take Milo’s hand. He tried to wriggle his hand free, but she held fast. “You have to hold my hand while we cross,” she told him, her voice firm. “Then you can let go.”

      He gave a heavy sigh but kept his hand in hers until the moment they reached the sidewalk on the other side, then he yanked it free, though he stayed close to her side.

      Despite Bowie’s warning that first day, Milo hadn’t yet tried to wander away from her.

      Bowie.

      Katrina tried not to match Milo’s heavy sigh of a few moments earlier. She had worked in his house for three days and had seen him maybe a total of thirty minutes that entire time, basically five minutes in the morning as he headed out the door, then five minutes in the evening prior to her leaving for home.

      Her face still felt hot and her stomach a tangle of nerves whenever she saw him, but she was working on it. Honestly.

      Ten minutes a day didn’t give her much time to figure out a guy, which was probably a good thing in this case. She didn’t need to know anything about him, other than that he worked hard and wanted the best for his brother—whatever that might be.

      When they reached the door of McKenzie’s store, Milo hung back a little and seemed wary about going inside. He was nervous, she realized. Had she done that to him, with her talk about other children?

      “Hey, buddy,” she said softly. “You don’t have to play with the other kids if you don’t want to. It’s just fine if you would rather stay close to me the whole time.”

      His shoulders seemed to relax at that, and she gave him a reassuring smile. “Let’s do this,” she said, then pushed open the door.

      Inside McKenzie’s store, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla swirled around and a furry greeter instantly padded over to them.

      “Hey, Rika,” she said to the elegant cinnamon-colored standard poodle who came to investigate the newcomers to her domain.

      Milo, she saw, did not look nervous around the dog. No surprise there. While he might be apprehensive about children and other humans, he had a deep and abiding love for anything furry or feathered.

      “Milo, this is my friend, Paprika. She is McKenzie’s dog. Remember McKenzie? You met her the other day over by the lake.”

      The boy nodded and reached a hand out to pet the dog. He smiled a little when his fingertips found the texture of her curly, wiry hair.

      “She feels funny, doesn’t she? Poodles don’t have hair like other dogs, you know, the long, sheddy sort. They were originally water dogs and the curly hair helps them dry off faster. Just like in people, curly hair has to do with genetics and the shape of the hair shaft opening.”

      “Do you really think he understands anything about genetics or hair shafts?”

      She glanced over to find Linda Fremont watching her from beside the counter, wearing her usual sour expression. She tried reminding herself to be patient with Linda. The woman had things tough after her husband died young. She had raised Samantha while running a small business by herself.

      Despite her gruff exterior, she had also been as kind as her nature would allow toward Katrina at a time when other parents in town hadn’t been nearly as welcoming. Because of that, Kat generally gained a lot of practice biting her tongue around her.