And Sadie…
Sadie cannot hold water.
On Wednesday night she follows Delaney around the kitchen as a tiny shadow, giggling to herself.
Delaney squints. “What are you up to?”
Sadie freezes, eyes wide. “Nothing.”
Delaney smiles slowly. “That ‘nothing’ looked suspicious.”
Sadie’s lips press together, fighting a grin. “I can’t tell you.”
Delaney looks up toward the doorway where I’m leaning, arms crossed.
“Boone,” she says, amused and wary. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say, because I am a liar and bad at it.
Silas appears behind her. “We’re definitely not planning a surprise. That would be illegal.”
Delaney’s eyes narrow. “Silas.”
He holds his hands up. “What? I said definitely.”
Caleb chooses that moment to walk in carrying a ladder, because we’re stringing lights later, and he instantly has the look of a man who wants the floor to swallow him.
Delaney points at the ladder. “Okay. That’s a ladder.”
Caleb pauses, then says, “It’s… for ranch things.”
“Ranch things,” she repeats, deadpan.
Silas nods solemnly. “Ranch things.”
Delaney stares at all three of us, then exhales through her nose. “Whatever you’re doing, I don’t want to know if it’s going to stress me out.”
“It’s not going to stress you out,” I tell her.
She gives me a look. “That’s not a reassuring statement from you.”
Fair.
So I soften my voice. “It’s good. Trust me.”
She hesitates, then nods once, choosing to believe me.
That alone makes my chest tighten.
By Saturday morning, the ranch has the look of a war zone of preparation.
Not the bad kind.
The… festive kind.
String lights are going up between the porch and the big oak by the pasture. There are tables being hauled out.
Mitchell, Timothy, and Freddie arrive first, all tattoos and smug competence. They unload equipment with the efficiency of people who’ve survived Ivy Fletcher’s nesting phase.
