Rachel stood beside him.
“Is this for a birthday?”
“No.”
“A holiday?”
“No.”
“A classroom?”
“No.”
Rachel looked increasingly confused.
“Then... may I ask why you need all of them?”
Gideon stopped.
For the first time, his expression changed.
The intimidating man disappeared.
For just a moment, he looked tired.
Almost sad.
He looked down at the doll in his hand.
“My granddaughter,” he said quietly.
Rachel smiled.
“Oh.”
“She loves princesses.”
“That makes sense.”
Gideon put another doll in the cart.
“She hasn't had a good year.”
Rachel's smile faded.
“What happened?”
Gideon looked at her.
“Her mother passed away.”
Rachel's face softened.
“I'm sorry.”
Gideon nodded.
“So am I.”
He picked up another doll.
“She used to tell my granddaughter stories about princesses.”
Rachel didn't know what to say.
Gideon continued filling the cart.
“She said every princess had to be brave before she could have a happy ending.”
He looked at the rows of dolls.
“My granddaughter believes her mother was a princess.”
Rachel smiled sadly.
“She sounds like a wonderful little girl.”
“She is.”
Gideon looked at the growing pile.
“I'm going to make sure she has every princess she wants.”
And that was when Rachel realized this enormous, intimidating biker hadn't come to buy toys.
He had come to buy hope.
Three weeks earlier, eight-year-old Sophie Cole had stopped talking about princesses.
Her grandmother noticed first.
Then her teachers.
Then Gideon.
It wasn't that Sophie had stopped liking them.
She still had a small collection of princess books beside her bed.
She still kept a plastic crown beneath her pillow.
She still watched old animated movies when she thought nobody was paying attention.
But she no longer asked for anything.
Not for dolls.
Not for dresses.
Not for birthday presents.
Not even for ice cream.
That frightened Gideon more than crying ever could.
Before her mother died, Sophie had been a loud child.
She sang constantly.
She danced through the house.
She asked impossible questions.
She had once spent an entire afternoon trying to convince Gideon that her stuffed rabbit was secretly a royal advisor.
Her mother, Elena, had laughed.
Gideon remembered that day clearly.
Elena had stood in the kitchen, watching her daughter march around wearing a plastic crown.
“You know she's going to grow up thinking she's royalty.”
Gideon had smiled.
“Good.”
Elena laughed.
“Why?”
“Because somebody should.”
Then she had kissed Sophie on the forehead.
That was six months before everything changed.
Elena had become sick unexpectedly.
At first, everyone thought it was exhaustion.
Then came the tests.
Then the hospital.
Then words nobody wanted to hear.
By the time Sophie understood that her mother was dying, the adults around her had already been crying for weeks.
Elena died on a rainy Thursday morning.
Sophie was eight years old.
Gideon had been the one who told her.
He had sat beside her on the couch.