“I don’t have this color.” When Henry meets her eyes, his sparkle with something raw I can’t identify, and his jaw is taut. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Violet.” She blushes and then averts her gaze as if uncomfortable. I lean in. “And I’m thanking you, too, because your father looks hot in a beanie.” It’s the first time I’ve called him anything but Henry in front of her.
