Timothy crossed his arms in frustration, watching as Harlow copied his exact gesture. "Stop following me," he grumbled.
The little girl mimicked his words right back at him. "Stop following me," she chirped in her tiny voice, then burst into giggles when she saw his annoyance growing.
"Do you have candy?"
"No candy. Don't ask me for any," he muttered under his breath. "Go back to your mother—she'll start looking for you." He glanced toward Jude, who remained absorbed in her potion-making, completely unaware her daughter had wandered off.
"Mama's busy. I'm bored."
"If you're bored, go somewhere else to play," he said, pressing his lips together. This kid unsettled him—not because he disliked her, but because those eyes were identical to Jude's. Talking to Harlow felt like speaking to a miniature version of her mother. The resemblance was striking.
"No." Harlow plopped down on the ground, her expression turning sad. The sight tugged at something in his chest.
