“How come?”
She shrugged. “Mom told me playing an instrument is better.”
“Who says you can’t do both? Braxton, the lead singer in my band, also plays bass.”
She toyed with the headphones hanging around her neck as if she were considering blocking out the conversation. “I don’t think Mom likes my singing.”
He frowned. “I can’t imagine that. I think your mom loves everything about you.”
She tilted her head, her expression turning thoughtful. “No one loves everything about anyone. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
“Because no one is perfect. Being friends or family is liking someone even when they have stuff about them that you don’t like.”
“Is that right?” he asked, impressed by the mini-philosopher.
“Yep. Like Mom thinks tattoos are dumb, but she still likes you.”
He laughed. “You think so?”
Reagan nodded seriously. “She smiles at you a lot. And she let you come to our house. And she listens to your music all the time now.”
Pike’s eyebrows rose. Well, then. “That’s good to know.”
Reagan put her hand on her hip. “So how many albums do you have at your house? Any Patti Smith?”
He pretended to think, tapping his chin with his finger. “Hmm, I may have a slightly scratched copy of Horses in the mix.”
“Really?” Reagan’s blue eyes went big. “We’re done cleaning up, right?”
He slid the last chair in place. “Looks done to me.”
She gave him a crooked grin, lighting up every part of a face that had been drawn and dark when she’d come in earlier. “Let’s jet, Mr. Pike.”
He chuckled as she ran toward the door. An eleven-year-old who got giddy about Patti Smith. That was definitely a first.
Seems the Easton girls were full of surprises.
SIXTEEN
Oakley put a blanket over Reagan and got an annoyed huff from Monty for disturbing his position curled up by Rae’s side. The dachshund/schnauzer mix had taken an instant liking to Reagan and had followed her around most of the night like her personal mascot. He apparently was not relinquishing the position anytime soon.
Rae nestled her head deeper into the throw pillow but didn’t wake up. Oakley smiled. Poor Rae. She’d been all excited about staying up late, but she’d zonked out right after finishing Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory—a movie she’d chosen from Pike’s DVD collection and declared “weird but kind of awesome.”
Pike sauntered into the living room, his feet bare and his jeans and T-shirt replaced with blue plaid pajama bottoms and a white undershirt. Something about seeing him in sleep clothes, sauntering through his personal space—a beautiful but not ostentatious modern condo with a killer view of downtown—did something to Oakley.
“She’s out?” he asked. “I was about to dish up some ice cream.”
“Yeah, she had a long day. Usually she has trouble sleeping anywhere but home or at my brother’s, so she must’ve been wiped.” Oakley rolled her neck, the stress of the day trapped there in her muscles.
A loud snore came from the couch—the dog’s, not Reagan’s. Pike laughed. “Monty must’ve had a rough one, too. All that chasing birds from window to window.”
Oakley’s mouth curved. “He’s adorable.”
“You don’t have to be nice. He’s obnoxious. But we get each other, so it works.”
“Because you’re both adorable and obnoxious?”