“It’s only because I’m shiny and new,” Zara said. “You’ll be back to being her favorite in no time.”
“Zara!” Abigail shouted. “Hi, Zara!”
“Hi, Abigail.” Zara slid a glance my way. “Do you want Uncle Cormac to sing you a song?”
Her eyes grew wide. “Yes! Maccie, Maccie, Maccie, peeeeze.”
There was no way I could turn her down. I didn’t know a lot of child-friendly songs, but I was pretty adept at singing my ABCs and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” which was all Abigail needed to be satisfied.
By the time I finished the second round of “Twinkle, Twinkle,” the house had shifted into dinner mode. My mom announced it was time to eat, and chairs began scraping across the floor. Little feet pitter-pattered into the room. My dad came in carrying a platter of grilled chicken, Deke behind him with corn wrapped in foil.
Everyone else filed in, and within a minute, the table was filled to the brim.
Zara handed Abigail over to Phoebe, but she stayed right beside me. Our knees brushed under the table, and our elbows bumped as we passed dishes around to fill our plates.
Conversations broke out in layers.
Caleb and Dad discussed fencing on the north pasture. Hannah told Mom about a client who’d tried to pay her in homemade jam. Silas loudly said something about dinosaurs to Jesse, who patiently explained why Silas was wrong.
Through the chaos, I noticed Zara kept glancing at my plate.
I leaned closer, not wanting to raise my voice over the noise. “Why didn’t you get any mac and cheese?”
She shrugged, trying to pretend she wasn’t eyeing my plate. “I didn’t think I wanted it.”
“Are you regretting your decision?”
She tipped her head to the side. “Maybe…”
Without thinking much about it, I slid my fork through the corner, scooped up a bite, and held it to her.
She blinked at it, then me.
“Go on,” I said. “Eat.”
A slow smile spread across her mouth as she leaned in and wrapped her lips around the fork, then pulled back, her eyes staying on mine.
“More?”
She swallowed. “Please.”
I fed her another scoop, something deep in my gut immensely satisfied by her hum of pleasure and little wiggle of happiness.
“Want me to get you some of your own?”
Biting down on her lip, she shook her head. “It tastes better from your plate.”
Who was I to argue? I scooped up another bite when I noticed the silence. The conversation around us had died down, the only sounds the scrape of my fork against the plate and the babies’ babbling.
I glanced up.
Every single person at the table was looking at us.
Caleb leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, trying and failing not to grin. Hannah’s eyebrows were somewhere near herhairline. Phoebe looked like she might tear up. My mom had both hands clasped under her chin like she’d just witnessed a proposal.
Even my dad was watching over the rim of his glass.
Silas squinted at us. “Why’s Uncle Mac feeding Zara? Is she a baby?”
