Chapter 13
As Emmitt and Summer stepped into the elevator, Delilah’s façade of polite unfamiliarity instantly gave way to a tender watchfulness. She turned to Mirabella with a voice softer than a southern breeze, cooing. “Sweetheart, let’s get you inside…
Before the elevator doors slid shut, Summer caught a glimpse of her foster mother’s abrupt switch in demeanor. Summer’s face turned a shade of unpleasant darkness in the blink of an eye.
The Davis residence wasn’t exactly a mansion, but their two–story duplex boasted a comfortable size. The décor was a refined blend of classical elegance with furniture that gave the impression of heirloom quality. You could tell the homeowners had a discerning eye.
Mirabella took her time surveying the place until her gaze landed on a framed piece of painting on the wall A flicker of surprise crossed her eyes, but it was quickly dismissed as she mentally rejected the possibility of it being an original masterpiece. Even though the Davis family didn’t seem to be living hand–to–mouth, they were hardly in the league of owning priceless art. The painting was likely a replica.
Shawn, who had been ruminating on how to break the ice with his daughter, caught the brief moment of her attention on the artwork. He saw an opportunity and spun it. “Mira, do you have an appreciation for painting?” he asked, his face blooming with an easy smile.
Mirabella’s eyebrows arched slightly as she lazily replied, “Nope, not interested.”
Shawn was momentarily taken aback, and his throat clogged with a barrage of artsy topics that never saw the light of day. After a moment, he managed to utter. “Oh, you’re not, huh…”
Seeing him look a bit deflated, Mirabella added after a thoughtful pause. “Different strokes for different folks.”
That seemed to restore Shawn’s paternal pride, and he eagerly followed up. “So, what are your interests then?”
Mirabella, recalling her life before this body hop, fell into silence. Then, lifting her head to face Shawn with earnest eyes, she confessed. “Studying.”
The response almost broke Shawn’s composure, his eyebrow twitching violently. How was a girl notorious for skipping classes now claiming her passion was studying?
Shawn observed his seemingly serious daughter and began to wonder if he had been misled during his previous inquiries at the small–town school.
“Shawn, are you showing off that old scribble again?” Delilah’s voice cut through the air as she carried dishes from the kitchen, her eyes casting a playful yet scathing glance at him. With a commanding shout, she added, “Come and set the table already!”
“It’s not showing off.” Shawn protested, touching his nose before reluctantly heading toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “Why does everything look like junk to you? That plece is actually…”
His words trailed off into an unintelligible mumble, so Mirabella didn’t quite catch the rest. However, the term ‘old scribble‘ used by Delilah was loud and clear.
After dinner, Delilah led Mirabella upstairs. The second floor housed four rooms. The one prepared for Mirabella was at the far end of the hallway on the right. As Delilah pushed open the door, she explained, “This room used to belong to Leo. He’s got ants in his pants and hardly ever shows up at home, so I decided to give the place a makeover. Take a look, do you like it?”
