The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,535

a few pairs of shorts. I’m a little bigger than she is, but I threw a couple of belts in there to help with that until she grows into some of this stuff.

“Are these … for me?” she asks, holding one of the dresses against her torso.

“Yep.”

“All of it?”

I nod.

“For real?”

I nod again, laughing, and she drops the dress before flinging her arms around my shoulders.

“If you don’t like some of the things, don’t be afraid to say so," I say. “We can donate them.”

“You’re the best.” She squeezes me tighter. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course, sweets,” I say. “You want to get Fro Yo? I passed this new place on the way here that looked good.”

“Um, duh!” Devanie gathers the bags in her hands and we head outside to the parking lot, where she all but sprints to my car like an excited puppy. I love this. I love everything about this.

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting at a table for two at the Lemon Leaf Fro Yo Bar in a little town next to Olwine.

“So what are your friends like?” I ask.

“They’re nice,” Devanie says, stirring the M&M’s into her brownie batter frozen yogurt. “I have, like, a group of ten friends, but Mally and Cadence are my best friends. They both live across the street from me, so we hang out all the time.”

“Nice.” I take a bite of mine. “Have you been friends a long time?”

She glances at the ceiling for a second. “Like five years I think? We moved to our house when I was in second grade, so … yeah.”

“Do you like school?” I ask.

She snarls her lip and rolls her eyes. “Does anyone?”

I did.

I loved school.

But I’ve always been blessed with the gift of curiosity and an overachieving spirit.

“School is … school,” she says. “I like art class though. And music.”

“So you’re creative.” Good to know. There are some pottery and painting places in Park Terrace I can take her to.

“I guess. Sure.” She takes another bite. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I laugh through my nose. “I do not. Why do you ask?”

She shrugs. “You’re just so beautiful. I thought maybe you did.”

Pointing my spoon at her, I say, “It takes a lot more than looks to land a nice man.”

“I know,” she says. “But you’re pretty, nice, and smart. What more could a guy want?”

She’s the sweetest. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Have you had a boyfriend before?”

“I have,” I say. “Just broke up with him last month, actually. His name was Eric.”

“Why’d you dump him?”

I almost tell her the real reason, that he was too much like my father, and then I remember that hers isn’t around.

“We wanted different things in life,” I say. And it’s the truth. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Devanie’s creamy cheeks turn a shade of pink and she hides a smile behind her spoon. “No. Not yet. My brother would straight up murder me if I had a boyfriend.”

I chuckle, thinking back to my own older brothers. Graeme is thirteen years my senior, Eben eight years older. Neither one of them were around all that often in my teenage years, but I always daydreamed about being one of those girls whose brothers chase off any guys who dare look her way.

“Your brother sounds like a good guy,” I say.

She blows a spiral of blonde hair out of her face and tucks her chin against her chest. “More like obnoxious.”

“Well, it sounds like he cares about you very much.”

“Too much.” She wipes the corners of her mouth with a napkin and shoves her empty cup to the middle of the table before sinking against the back of her chair. “I’m so full. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

She did fill her cup clear to the top with yogurt and various toppings. I laughed at first, thinking it was cute, and then I realized it wasn’t cute at all.

It was kind of sad.

In retrospect, she acted like she was starving.

Maybe as we get a bit closer, I’ll see if I can find out if she has food at home. I just want to make sure she’s not going to bed hungry at night and waking up famished every morning.

“You want to go swimming Thursday?” I ask.

“Yes!” She sits up.

“Might need more than two hours since Park Terrace is a thirty-minute drive from here. Just get permission from your mom and have her let the center know, okay?” I ask. “Should we