Right as her hand is on the handle of the screen door, I say, “Delaney.”
She stops and glances over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I overreacted.”
She circles back and keeps her arms crossed. “Want to tell me what this is really about?”
“Not really.” I kick at the grass.
It used to come so easy with Delaney, telling her about my vulnerabilities, insecurities, but now we’re lifetimes away from that, and I’m struggling.
“Okay then.” She eyes the wood. “Build your little fire, and the girls and I will get the s’mores stuff together.”
The door shuts behind her, and whatever she tells the girls has them screaming with excitement. She returns with a lighter.
I want to be mad at her. I should be. She let me miss seven years of my daughter’s life. Seven. That’s every scraped knee, every bedtime story, every moment Leia needed someone and went to him.
I watch her situating the girls. Both my daughters, even though only one of them is hers. Wren represents everything that took me away from Delaney, and still, she treats Wren as if she’s hers. Not that I’m surprised.
Damn it, I still want her.
That’s the problem. Delaney still feels like home. Even when I’m furious with her, I want her.
I teach the girls how to stack the wood to get the best fire. They put the kindling on the bottom, the two of them working together better than Delaney and I do.
She sits in the chair, a silent observer, but it’s too dark outside to read her expression.
“Gotta love a cowboy,” Delaney says after a while, when the flames are crackling and the logs are just starting to catch.
The girls get comfortable under a blanket, sitting side by side, pointing as the flames increase.
I glance over at Delaney. Her hair’s pulled into a messy bun, and she’s wearing one of those threadbare sweatshirts that somehow is sexier than if she wore something tight. I want to know if she’s wearing a bra or if my hands ventured under that hem, would I feel her bare breasts?
“I’m far from a cowboy.”
She smiles, flames dancing in her eyes. “You might not corral cattle, but you’re a cowboy at heart.”
I scoff. “My cousins would disagree.”
The fire casts a warm orange glow over her face. Makes her look softer. Younger. As though she could be seventeen again, when we were stupid and brave and thought love was gonna get us through. Such simple times.
“What do they know?”
The four of us are silent for a beat.
“Looks great. Sit down and relax. You wanna make a s’more?” She sits up to grab the stuff.
“I got it. Girls?” I grab two sticks and hand them each one with a marshmallow on it. I kneel by each of them, showing them how to keep it off the flames enough to not catch on fire. Wren is more familiar, though I’ve usually taken control of it for her, so she doesn’t get hurt.
Delaney gets the graham crackers and chocolate ready, and between the two of us, we get them both assembled. They sit back in their chairs, eating over the small plates Delaney brought out.
“Want me to make you one?” I ask her.
“I can make my own s’more, thank you very much.” She smiles. “Maybe in a bit. Sit.”
I take the empty chair, and we all stare at the fire.
“I might be a tad overprotective,” I admit in a quiet voice so only she can hear. The girls are busy laughing about something.
