“I was about to.” My brows drew together. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

He pushed off the wall and dragged a hand through his hair. “My daughter’s in there—Charlie. She gets lost in a bathroom, says she likes the clue sticks.”

“Clue sticks?”

“Acoustics. I correct her, but she says it sounds better her way.”

I chuckled. “Do you want me to hurry her along?”

He looked at his watch. “I have an important call with an investor overseas at six thirty.”

“Go. I’ll make sure she’s okay and walk her back to your office.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. No problem.”

Hudson still looked hesitant.

I rolled my eyes. “I crashed a wedding once, but I promise I won’t lose her.”

He blew out a deep breath. “Okay, thanks.”

Walking into the bathroom, I was absolutely curious. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, but one thing quickly became apparent—why she was concerned about the clue sticks. The sweetest little voice was singing… Was that “Jolene”? The old Dolly Parton song? Why yes, yes, it was. And little Charlie seemed to know all the words.

I noticed her little legs swinging underneath the first bathroom stall. I stood quietly, listening with the biggest smile on my face. She really could sing. Her voice was tiny, but by the size of her legs, I suspected it fit the body. Yet she sang on key and put in a vibrato that didn’t usually come out of a little girl.

When the song ended, I didn’t want to be standing there staring and scare her, so I gently knocked on the stall door.

“Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“Hi. My name is Stella. Your dad asked me to walk you back to his office when you’re done in here. I’m just going to go to the bathroom. But don’t leave without me.”

“Okay.”

I went into the stall beside hers and started to relieve myself.

Mid-pee, Charlie said, “Stella?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like Dolly?”

I stifled my laugh. “I do.”

“Do you have a favorite song?”

“Hmmm. I do, actually. I don’t know if it’s a very popular one, but my grandmother lived in Tennessee and the song ‘My Tennessee Mountain Home’ always reminded me of her. So I’d have to say that’s probably my favorite.”

“I don’t know that one. But my dad’s is ‘It’s All Wrong, But It’s All Right’. He won’t let me sing that one, because he says the words are too old for me. But I memorized them anyway. You want to hear it?”

I most certainly did—even more so now that she’d told me her father said she couldn’t sing it. But I stopped myself from telling her to belt it out. The last thing I needed was Hudson thinking I’d corrupted his kid.

“Hmmm... As much as I’d love to hear it, we should probably mind your dad.”

The sound of the toilet flushing was her response, so I hurried and finished up so she couldn’t run out of the bathroom without me.

Charlie was at the sinks washing her hands when I emerged from the stall. She was absolutely freaking adorable with sandy-blond curly hair that looked like it wasn’t easy to tame, a button nose, and big brown eyes. She wore purple from head to toe, including tights, sneakers, skirt, and T-shirt. Something told me Charlie picked out her own clothes.

“Are you Stella?” she asked.

Again, I had to rein in my laugh. We were the only two in the bathroom. “I am. And you must be Charlie.”

She nodded and watched me behind her in the mirror. “You’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you. That’s very sweet. You’re beautiful yourself.”

She smiled.

I walked over to the sink next to her to wash up. “Do you take singing lessons, Charlie? Your voice is really amazing.”

She nodded. “I go on Saturday mornings at nine thirty. My dad picks me up to take me because my mom needs her beauty sleep.”

I smiled. This kid was hysterical and had no clue. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“I also take karate. Mom wanted me to take ballet, but I didn’t want to. Dad took me to sign up for karate lessons without telling her, and she wasn’t very happy.”

I laughed. “I bet.”

“Do you work with my daddy?”

“I do, actually.”

“Do you want to come to dinner with us? We’re taking the subway.”

“Oh, thank you, but I still have some work to do.”

She shrugged. “Maybe next time.”

I could not stop smiling at everything that came out of this little girl’s mouth. “Maybe.”

We both dried our hands, and then I walked her to her dad’s office. Hudson was still on the phone, so I asked her if she wanted to come see where I sat. When she nodded, I gestured to let Hudson know I was taking her down to my office.

Charlie plopped herself on a guest chair, with her feet dangling and swinging. “You don’t have any pictures?”

“That’s because today is my first day. I haven’t had a chance to decorate yet.”

She looked around. “You should paint your office purple.”

I laughed. “Not sure that would go over so well with your father.”

“He let me paint my room purple.” Charlie sniffed a few times. “Your office smells good.”

“Thank you. I’m actually a perfumist. I make perfumes.”

“You make perfumes?”

“Yup. It’s kind of a cool job, isn’t it?”

She nodded fast. “How do you do it?”

“Well, it’s a lot of science, actually. But what your dad and I are working on together is making a perfume based on how much people like a bunch of different smells. Would you like to try out some of my samples?”

“Yes!”

I’d brought a few sample kits with me today, so I grabbed one from my desk drawer and sat next to her on a guest chair. Opening the box, I took out one of the smelling jars and offered it to her. It was calone, which told me if a person had a penchant for a sea-breeze-type smell.

“What does this smell remind you of?”

Her eyes lit up. “Mmm…chocolate-banana ice cream.”

My brows knitted, and I lifted the jar to smell it myself, even though I’d smelled the ocean the second I twisted off the cap. “That smells like ice cream to you?”

“No. But Dad took me to the beach last week, and afterward we got ice cream on the boardwalk. I got a banana split because that’s my favorite. That smells like the beach, but now the beach just makes me think of that yummy ice cream.”

I had asked her what the scent reminded her of and not what it smelled like. So her answer was right. I picked up the banana that had been sitting on my desk all day. “You’re a banana fan, too, huh? You want to share this one?”

“No, thank you.” She swung her legs. “My dad writes on my bananas when he packs my lunch. Sometimes oranges and tangerines, too. But never apples because those you don’t peel the skin off of.”

“He writes on your fruit?”

She nodded.

“What does he write?”