He looked around the apartment only once, and so quickly it felt less like judgment and more like taking in reality.
His gaze landed on Denise asleep on the couch.
He lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to come at a bad time.”
Lauren crossed her arms.
“What is this about?”
He looked at her for a long second, swallowed, and said, “The little girl from the restaurant is my daughter.”
Everything in Lauren went still.
“The little girl,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
The room narrowed around that one sentence.
She thought about the dirty dress.
The smell.
The nickel.
The way the child had looked both cared for and abandoned at the same time.
“Your daughter?”
He nodded.
“My name is Ethan Cole.”
Lauren stared at him.
If she had been told five minutes earlier that aliens were in the hallway, she would have believed that faster.
