The armchair belonged to Abuelo Ignacio. Not officially. The house contained other chairs. Perfectly functional chairs. Several of them were even comfortable. None of that mattered. The armchair by the window was Abuelo’s. Everyone knew it. Including Lucy. Which was why she headed directly toward it the moment she escaped table-setting duty.
Ignacio lowered his newspaper. “Well.” Lucy settled onto his lap. “Hello, mija.”
“Hello, Abuelo.”
“You seem busy.”
“I am.”
“Doing what?”
“Important dragon business.”
Ignacio folded the newspaper completely. “I should have guessed.”
“Obviously.”
He nodded gravely. “Tell me about the important dragon business.”
Lucy leaned closer. “There is a dragon harbor.”
“A sensible place for dragons.”
“And there is a dragon harbor master.”
“Naturally.”
“And he has to decide where all the dragon ships go.”
Ignacio considered this. “That sounds like a difficult job.”
“It is.”
“What if two dragons want the same dock?”
Lucy frowned. The possibility had apparently never occurred to her. Ignacio waited patiently while she solved the crisis. “They take turns.”
“A wise policy.”
“I know.”
From the dining room Nora could be heard explaining to her father why forks did not, in fact, belong on the left side of a plate “for no reason.” He continued to try to convince her, knowing his mother’s reaction to chaotic, not-on-the-left-side-of-the-plate fork placement would result in The Look ™️
Lucy ignored them. The dragon harbor required her attention. Several minutes later, after establishing harbor regulations, dragon customs inspections, and a highly questionable dragon ice cream stand, Lucy reached into the pocket of her dress.
Ignacio immediately became suspicious. Years of experience had taught him that small children rarely reached into pockets for reasons that benefited adults.
She withdrew a rhinestone barrette. Pink. Sparkling. Dangerous. Ignacio narrowed his eyes. Lucy smiled. “No,” he told her with complete seriousness despite a small twinkle in his eyes.
“I didn’t ask anything,” Lucy pouted.
“You were about to,” her grandfather pointed out.
“Since you brought it up…” she wheedled.
“No.”
Lucy examined the barrette. Then looked at his hair. Then back at the barrette. Ignacio sighed dramatically. The game had begun. “One clip?”
“No.”
“Just one, I promise.”
“No.”
“It would look beautiful.”
“I am an old man.”
“Exactly.”
Ignacio looked toward the kitchen. No assistance was offered. Cowards. All of them.
Lucy held up the barrette. “It matches your eyes.”
“It absolutely does not.”
She tilted her head. “It kind of does.”
Ignacio hated when she made good arguments. A few minutes later the terms of barrette quantity and placement were negotiated and finalized. One barrette. Temporary placement. No photographs.
Lucy clipped it carefully into his silver hair. Then sat back to admire her work. Ignacio maintained an expression of great suffering. Lucy beamed. Perfectly satisfied. She curled comfortably against him. The matter settled.
Ignacio looked down at the small head resting against his chest. Then toward the window where he could just catch his reflection and the sparkling pink clip resting in his hair. Then very casually adjusted the barrette so it sat a little straighter.
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