“All right, terror,” he tells Octavia. “Let’s get your notebook, then we can stop for some ice cream before I drop you off. But you have to promise not to run off like that. You’re lucky you found Claire. There are a lot of people who aren’t nearly as nice in the world.”

“I promise,” she says readily.

Far too readily.

He sighs deeply.

“I’ve seen some kids with a leash,” I offer helpfully. “It ties to their backpacks. Sounds like you might need one of those.”

“More like ten.” He smiles, and bloody hell, it’s quite unfair how gorgeous this guy is. He must be a model. “Thanks for watching over her, Claire.”

“No problem. Your daughter is a lot of fun.”

The guy snorts. “Claire’s my niece. Hell, do I look old enough to have a six-year-old?”

Oh. He seems to be in his early twenties. He could have a six-year-old.

“Sorry. My parents were sixteen when they had me, so I don’t like to assume. And she said she was with Da, so…”

“I see.” He extends his hand. “Darius. Darius Keller.”

Ah. That makes sense; that name’s probably a little too hard for a kid to say. Or maybe she just likes calling her uncle by a diminutive.

“Did you need anything else, terror?” he asks Octavia, taking her purchase.

Keller doesn’t even check the price. I’m not surprised. Everything he and Octavia wear looks like it costs more than what I earn in a week.

It occurs to me that while she’s no longer stuck to me, she’s still holding the hem of my dress. “Just my notebook!”

“You have excellent taste in notebooks,” I tell her.

“Did you want the same one, Claire? Then we can match!” she offers.

“Oh, I wish, but my wallet says no. I’m just here for these,” I say, pointing to the cheap row of folders I didn’t even get to, distracted as I was, first by the cute notebook, then by the equally adorable kid.

“How about you let Claire get on with her shopping, yeah?” Darius nudges gently.

She looks at her own hand, still firmly fisting the pale pink fabric of my skater dress. Noticing she’s holding on to it, she lets go, and bounces to her uncle’s side.

“You have all the crayons and pencils you need at Grandma’s?” I hear him ask as I make my way to the folders.

“I want glitter pens! And shiny gold ones.”

I’m a little sad to part ways with little Octavia, to tell the truth.