Man, he loved the smell of the room. Lemon-scented innocence was what he called it in his mind. Sweet like a flower, but not cloying. Clean. Bella squeezed his hand and led him over to the crib. Surrounded by satin bows that were bigger than she was, Nalla was curled up on her side, her arms and legs tucked in tight, her eyes shut hard as if she were working really, really, really diligently at being asleep. The instant Z looked over the lip of the crib, she stirred. Made a little noise. In her sleep her hand reached out, not toward her mother, but to him. “What does she want?” he asked like an idiot. “She wants you to touch her.” When he didn’t move, Bella murmured, “She does this in her sleep . . . she seems to know who’s around and she likes a little pat.” To his shellan’s absolute credit, she didn’t force him to do anything. But Nalla wasn’t happy. Her little hand and arm strained for him. Z wiped his palm on the front of his shirt, then rubbed it up and down a couple of times on his hip.
