Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bennett
I’m just dropping off the damn pillow and getting out of here.
Wren insisted on the phone that she couldn’t sleep without it and begged me to bring it over to Delaney’s for her sleepover.
I pull into Delaney’s driveway, pillow in the passenger seat, and give myself the same pep talk I do every time we do these drop-offs.
Don’t linger. Don’t look at Delaney as if you still want her to belong to you. Don’t remember how many nights you dreamed about her coming back in your life. Don’t forget what she kept from you.
No one comes out to get the pillow, so I climb out of my truck and make my way up to the door.
I rap my knuckles on the screen door, but there’s no answer. Delaney mentioned that her parents were out of town this week, so maybe she and the girls are out back or something. I could easily toss the pillow inside then leave Delaney a text message and get the hell out of here. But then I hear laughter coming from the kitchen. Wren’s giggle, Leia’s quieter laugh, and Delaney’s soft voice in the mix. It slides under my skin, and fear of missing out pulls me toward them.
I knock again. This time louder.
“In here!” Delaney calls.
I open the door and step inside.
The scent of burned marshmallow, chocolate, and something vaguely smoky fills the air. There’s a bag of marshmallows half-spilled on the counter, chocolate bars broken up on a plate, with graham crackers scattered in little broken pieces mixed in. The three of them are huddled around the gas stovetop.
You have got to be kidding me.
Wren’s holding a skewer over the gas burner, her arm tucked in tightly, the flame licking the edges of a marshmallow already burned on one side.
“What are you guys doing?” I ask, or maybe more demand.
Delaney straightens up from behind Leia, her eyes going wide. “We’re making s’mores.”
“Over a gas flame?” I stare at the burner. “Jesus, that’s not safe.”
“We’ve always done it this way,” Leia says, lifting her skewer. “Mine’s on fire.”
Delaney leans over and blows it out. “Perfect.”
“This is fun, Daddy, want to do one?” Wren glances over her shoulder briefly before concentrating on her marshmallow.
“You’re only inches from catching your hair on fire.” I set the pillow on a chair and take the skewer from Wren’s hand, turning off the burner with a click.
“Boo,” Delaney says. The girls groan their agreement. “Why build a whole fire for a few s’mores? Leia and I have always done it this way.” Delaney looks at Leia, and they both shrug.
I shake my head. “Where is your parents’ fire pit and wood?”
Delaney tilts her head. “Outside. Wood is on the side of the garage. But?—”
I walk out of the house, and Delaney tells the girls to sit tight.
She follows me out of the house. “I can make a fire, you know. I’m just choosing to do it over the stovetop.”
“And burn off the girls’ hair?”
She scoffs, and when I turn around, her hands are on her hips, and her mouth is set in a rigid line. “It’s funny, you know. I’ve been a mom the same amount of time you’ve been a dad. Leia’s gorgeous hair has never been singed once.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” I say, going around to the garage and returning with wood.
She walks over and takes the wood from me. “You are not going to undermine me here. This is my night for a sleepover, and we were having fun. You should try it sometime.” She circles and stomps back toward the house.
