I nod, the dad moment fading, the tension rushing back into the room the second I’m facing Wyatt again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Wyatt, I didn’t hide anything. I swear.”
He studies my face for a long second, reading vitals.
Finally, he nods. “I believe you.”
Relief loosens the stress in me.
“But it doesn’t make it easier,” he adds.
“No,” I whisper. “It really doesn’t.”
And because the universe is apparently committed to timing that makes everything worse…
The front door opens.
Boots.
A low voice.
“You two arguing? Should I take cover?”
Marshall steps into the kitchen, rain jacket half unzipped, hair still damp, with the look of a man who wrestled the weather and won.
He takes one look at Wyatt’s face, one look at mine, one look at the candle. His brows knit.
“What’d I miss?”
Wyatt’s gaze snaps to him. “Youbought that candle?”
Marshall freezes. If he were a horse, his ears would be pinned right now.
“Yes,” he says cautiously.
Wyatt laughs, sharp. “Of course you did.”
Marshall’s jaw tightens. “Okay. I’m sensing I walked into the middle of a thing.”
“You did,” Wyatt says.
Marshall’s gaze flicks to the twins.
Caleb waves his frog at him. “We’re learning about family fights.”
Marshall blinks once, then looks back at us. “Great. Love that for us.”
Wyatt points at the candle as if it’s evidence in a trial. “Why are you buying Abilene Kentwood candles all of a sudden?”
Marshall’s throat works. He looks annoyed at himself.
The kind of annoyed that usually means the truth is about to come out.
He exhales once. “Because I like her.”
The words land hard as a dropped tool. Heavy, loud, impossible to ignore.
I thought he’d say something along the lines of her being our neighbor, our friend, and supporting her.
