Page 19 of Joker

“Hey,” I say.

Lexi blinks at me.

That’s it. No smile. No wave. No hiding her face, either. Just a long, suspicious look like she’s trying to decide whether I’m dangerous, stupid, or both.

Honestly, that’s more personality than I was expecting.

I tilt my head slightly. “You always this friendly, or am I special?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch. Then she slowly shifts her bunny higher against her chest and narrows her eyes at me just enough to tell me the answer is probably yes, I am special, and not in a flattering way.

I hear Blaze in my head telling me I’d probably get judged by toddlers and dogs for the rest of my life. Maybe he’s got a point.

Raven’s voice comes quietly from above me. “Sorry.”

I glance up at her.

She looks mortified. Not because the kid’s being rude, but because she clearly thinks she’s somehow responsible for Lexi not immediately warming up to a giant tattooed stranger who just appeared in a locked room after dark.

That tells me a few things too.

I straighten slowly, rolling back to my feet. “Don’t.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Don’t apologize for your kid not throwing herself at strangers. That’d be weird.”

For one second, she just looks at me. Then the tiniest, strangest expression flickers across her face. Not amusement exactly. More like surprise wrapped around the ghost of it.

It’s gone so fast I almost think I imagined it.

Lexi, however, is still staring at me like I’ve personally offended her ancestors.

I incline my head toward the bunny. “What’s his name?”

That gets a response. The kid’s fingers tighten around the rabbit, and she says in a small, suspicious voice, “Bunny.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Creative.”

Raven makes a sound under her breath that might’ve been a laugh if she wasn’t so clearly trying not to.

Lexi’s expression does not change.

Tough crowd.

I stand fully and look back at Grinder. “You got bags?”

Raven answers this time too. “Just two.”

That’s not enough. It should be more.

A woman leaving home with a child should not be able to fit her life into two bags. But then again, if you’re running, you don’t pack for sentiment. You pack for speed.

That thought sits ugly.

I take them and head for the door. “I’ll load up.”

“I can help,” she says immediately.