“It’s just Phil, honey,” he says. “I hope you like cheesy eggs and cinnamon rolls.”
“That soundsamazing,” I say happily as my mouth waters.
“And bacon, right?” Meg asks, sounding worried.
“Of course I’ve got your bacon, Meg,” her grandfather says with a smile.
“Are you allergic to dogs, Taylor?” Ellie asks, looking out the back window.
“No,” I tell her. “I love dogs.”
“Good,” Meg says right away. “Because Foghorn doesn’t believe in personal space.”
“Foghorn?” I echo.
But at just that moment, the back door flies open and a huge wolfhound-looking dog flies in to greet us, legs akimbo, tongue lolling out of his mouth like he’s smiling. I give him a pat, and he stops to drop his head back and howl, showing me how he got his name.
The happy canine is followed by another man who looks just like Roan and his dad, but with dirty blondhair to his shoulders and a smile almost as big as the dog’s. Again, I’ve seen him in passing at the lot, but this is my first time up close.
“Taylor Greer,” he calls out in a deep voice when his eyes land on me.
“Buck,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“I feel like I know you already,” he says. “You’re all Meg-a-tron here talks about.”
Meg laughs like a hyena at her nickname as she scampers up to her uncle, who gives her a high five and then offers a low five, whipping his hand out of the way at the last moment, but not before Meg manages to tag it.
“Ohhh,” he teases her. “You think you’re pretty quick, don’t you?”
“No roughhousing before breakfast,” Ellie says without even looking as she lifts something out of the oven that instantly intensifies the sweet scent of cinnamon that already fills the house.
“My favorite,” Buck groans, rushing over to his mom and kissing her temple.
“Help me with the glaze?” she asks.
“Of course,” he says, opening one of the cupboards.
I realize that while all the rest of this was happening, Roan was quietly starting a fire in the fireplace. It’s crackling away nicely as he stands in front of it giving it a strategic poke here and there.
“Oh, Roan,” his mother sighs, noticing at the sametime I do. “Did you forget that we’re leaving after breakfast?”
“Oh shoot,” he says, frowning. “I guess it’s force of habit.”
“Not a worry,” his father puts in. “We should take a couple of cars anyway. Mom and I can stay here until it dies down, maybe get another crossword done. We’ll meet you for lunch, right, sweetheart?”
“Oh,” she says. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. We’ve seen the parade lots of times.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Roan says.
She nods and it’s only because I’m beside her that I can see the relief in the slight rounding of her shoulders and the softening of her smile.
She’s definitely hurting.
And I’m pretty sure Roan started that fire to keep her home for a while longer so she wouldn’t have to admit it out loud.
“Would you like to grab some plates for us, Taylor?” she asks me, indicating the upper cupboard I’m standing in front of.
“Oh, yes, of course,” I tell her, grateful to have a job to do so I can stop feeling teary about the quiet moment of grace I just witnessed.
