Eira's lips pouted, and her nose scrunched in complaint as she turned to look at her father.
Sensing her gaze, Dylan glanced at her, studying her for a second.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
The little girl's pout deepened. "It doesn't smell like Mama."
Dylan's gaze shifted briefly to the bag in her hands before he nodded. "It wouldn't," he said calmly.
Eira's frown deepened, and the resentment in her eyes only grew.
And once again, Dylan found her reaction strikingly similar to her mother's. Both of them had a habit of pouting like little kittens.
The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly.
"The clothes were sent for cleaning," he explained. "If there was any scent, it would have been washed away."
Eira looked down at the bag for a moment before suddenly shoving it toward him. Then, crossing her arms, she turned to face away stubbornly.
From the front, Ford caught the entire exchange through the rear-view mirror. And he couldn't help but smile.
