Which is a lie.
A Boone-type deflection.
Never a good sign.
I rub her back gently. “Want pancakes later?”
She nods without enthusiasm.
Okay. Noted. Something’s wrong. I’ll pry it out of her later in my patented “dysfunctionally charming” way. People think Caleb’s the emotional support animal of the house, but Sadie talks to me when she doesn’t want to worry her dad.
Delaney watches her with a soft expression, warm as sunlight. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
“Miss Delaney,” Sadie says suddenly, brightening a little, “do you make waffles too?”
Delaney blinks.
“I… yes? Absolutely. I can.” She looks at me, flustered. “If that’s okay?”
I grin. “Sunshine, you can make whatever you want. Welcome to the ranch.”
She blushes. Actually blushes. And I’m hit with a wave of memory from the night we met and exactly how she looked when I…
Nope.
No.
Not thinking about that.
I clear my throat and set Sadie down gently. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you dressed.”
Sadie grabs Delaney’s hand first.
Of course she does.
Delaney looks startled by the tiny gesture of trust.
I’m not.
Sadie’s always had good instincts.
When she trots off toward her room, Delaney turns back to me. “So. About the pantry…”
“Don’t worry.” I wave a dismissive hand. “I’ll tell Boone I did it.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m the lovable disaster. It’s on brand.”
She makes a helpless noise that sounds dangerously close to a laugh. A tiny, frustrated sound that makes her even prettier.
And I…
I feel it.
The shift.
The spark.
