I sat Riley down, and she scampered over to Amos. He gave her the salad. I started to walk over, but Emmy bumped against my shoulder. Her touch stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked down at her. She was giving me a small smile. “Hi,” she said. “Hey.” She linked our pinky fingers for half a second before continuing to the kitchen, stopping beside her dad, putting her palms up, and saying, “Dish me, daddio.” Amos handed her a massive bowl of mashed potatoes. Her favorite.
