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“I want one.”

“You chose the dragon.”

“The dragon only has four.”

Mara sets the canvas bags beside a bench. “Give her another ten minutes and she’ll negotiate for a centipede.”

Biddy raises her butterfly. “Mine doesn’t have any legs.”

“That should make assembly easier,” I tell her.

She smiles and slips her hand back into mine, and Bane’s gaze drops to our joined fingers before meeting mine. The warmth in his expression sends a flush across my face, so I turn toward Babs as she tears at the plastic around her kite.

“Emma can help me,” she announces.

“I can help you,” Bane says.

Babs considers him with the care of someone evaluating a contractor. “Emma will be better.”

“What evidence supports that?”

“She has long hair, and kites have long tails.”

I look down at her. “I’m relieved there’s a logical basis for the decision.”

Biddy hands her butterfly to Bane. “You can help me.”

His face softens as he accepts it. “Thank you.”

Babs leans toward me while we carry the dragon pieces to the blanket. “She feels sorry for him.”

“I heard that,” Bane says from behind us.

Babs smiles without showing any concern.

We spread the kite parts across the blanket. Sprout sniffs each corner in search of food.

Bane kneels beside Biddy and fits the rods into the butterfly’s fabric pockets, checking each connection before moving to the next.

Babs and I unfold the dragon instructions, and the small diagram offers three arrows, two dotted lines, and no useful explanation.

“Do you understand it?” she asks.

“I understand that whoever designed this dislikes families.”

“You’re holding it upside down.”

I rotate the paper before pointing to one of the arrows. “I was checking whether you were paying attention.”

She nods with complete seriousness. “I passed.”

We fit the first rod through a narrow sleeve and secure it beneath the wing before realizing we’ve attached it to the wrong side.

Babs holds the kite across her lap. I pull it loose, although the opposite wing folds inward as soon as we fasten the tail.

Bane finishes the butterfly and glances over. Biddy studies his work. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Babs and I answer together.