“Well, I like your name. It’s kind of a cool-chick name,” I tell her.
“What makes it cool?”
I consider it for a moment. “It’s strong but soft, short and playful, and .?.?. it suits you.”
She seems pleased with that.
“But it’s still not as cool as my best friend Willow’s name.”
“Willow,” Ellie repeats. “I like it.”
“It’s a pretty name,” Dallas agrees. “What’s she like?”
“A bit nosy and demanding,” Wilder mutters, and I stifle a laugh.
Wes snaps his head over, curiosity in his eyes, and Wilder clears his throat when he realizes his slip-up. “Silas, you staying in town for a while? I can get you in a guest cabin for a few weeks.”
Silas shakes his head. “I’m staying with Dad until next week, then I have to head back.”
“Uh-oh,” Ellie whines, holding her hand up and spreading her fingers.
“Oh no, how did you get jelly all over your wrists?” I ask.
“I almost dropped the cornbread and caught it with my arms.”
Dallas smiles down. “I saw that. Nice catch.”
Her worried expression softens, and I stand. “Come on, I’ll help you wash up.”
We hurry to the bathroom and I give her a good scan. “Oh, you’ve got jelly on your shirt and chin too.” I pull up my sleevesto clean up the stickiness she seemed to get everywhere.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you don’t have to be sorry. Those boys out there are probably making a bigger mess. Can’t let them have all the fun.”
She giggles, and I take her back out, biting my tongue on the million questions I have for her about how she feels about all this.
Not the place. Not the time. And probably too soon.
We take our seats, and I catch up on the conversation, which seems to have a focus on Silas. Wilder reaches for my hand. “Everything all right?”
I nod, not wanting to say what I’m thinking. Dallas didn’t think to help her with the jar. Or take her to the bathroom to clean her up.
They might be all right in the long run, but right now, this man’s going to need help.
Maybe I’ll get him a book. A few.
“Dallas, how’s the house coming along?” Connor asks, his deep voice carrying from the other end of the table.
Dallas’s expression shifts to irritation. “Going to spend some time on it this week.”
And I don’t blame him. Maybe instead of pressuring the man to move out of Wilder’s, they can offer help.
Dallas gives some updates on all the things he still needs to do before it’s livable.
“What is that?” Wes barks, his eyes sharp on the side of my plate.
I jerk at his tone and then realize he’s not looking at my plate. His laser focus is on my arm, resting openly between us.
