Sadie’s sitting at the counter with her coloring book, tongue poking out as she concentrates, and every few seconds she looks up and asks Delaney a bunch of questions.
Delaney answers every one with the sort of warmth only she can find.
I stare at my invoices and realize I’ve made up my mind.
She needs something that can’t be talked away. Something she can see.
Not just the three of us choosing her in private. Not just Sadie.
The town.
Coyote Glen can be a nosy, meddling pain in the ass, but it also does one thing well: it shows up. It claims people. It decides you’re one of theirs, and then you’re stuck with casseroles and opinions forever.
Delaney deserves that kind of stuck.
She deserves to be publicly wanted.
So I do the thing I’m worst at.
I ask for help.
The party planning becomes a multi-day operation, which I hate, because it requires people. And opinions. And texts.
So many damn texts.
Sloane: Boone, I have the BEST idea…
Ivy: Me and Olivia will do what we can, but don’t forget I’m about to burst…
Olivia: My coffee truck can help!
Silas leans over my shoulder, “We’re making Boone give a speech.”
“No,” I say immediately.
“We’re making Boone give a speech,” he repeats, as if he didn’t hear me.
Caleb holds up a hand. “We can keep it short.”
“Or,” I say, “we can keep it nonexistent.”
Sadie overhears from the table where she’s drawing something that appears to be a stick figure wedding.
“I can do the speech!” she declares.
Silas points at her. “Yes. Child-led emotional devastation. Perfect.”
“Not happening,” I say.
Sadie narrows her eyes. “Daddy, you’re being grumpy.”
Caleb, traitor, murmurs, “She’s right.”
I glare at both of them.
Keeping the surprise from Delaney becomes its own rodeo.
Because Delaney isn’t dumb. She notices when people start acting weird. When Silas suddenly becomes suspiciously helpful. When Caleb keeps “accidentally” leaving his phone face up on the counter with texts from Ivy that say things such aswhat color tablecloths?
