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Dad sets the cooler on the island while Mom unloads containers like she’s stocking a fallout shelter.

“Chicken and dumplings,” she says, holding up the first one. “I heard Hayes has been missing them. They’re chilled, so put one in the freezer if you’re not going to eat it in the next couple of days.”

She peels back the corner of the lid, and the smell of chicken, pepper, and buttery broth immediately fills the kitchen.

My stomach growls on cue.

Mom smiles. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Food.”

“Delaney Elizabeth.”

I sigh, “Coffee and danish.”

Her eyes narrow.

I immediately understand where Bishop gets it.

“I’ll eat,” I promise.

She seems satisfied enough to turn her attention back to the cooler.

I lean against the island and watch my parents make themselves at home in Bishop’s kitchen like they’ve been here a hundred times instead of a few.

I missed them. Which is ridiculous considering I left Evergreen barely a week ago.

Then again, the last seven days have included a housing disaster, an unexpected internship, my first week at Wilder House, a coffee shop I'm already mildly obsessed with, one horrifying apartment tour, and agreeing to live with Hayes Bishop for the foreseeable future.

Temporarily. Very temporarily.

I haven’t forgotten.

Even if my Converse are by his front door and Darcy’s litter box is upstairs. Or if there’s already a pink composition notebook sitting on the coffee table like it belongs there.

Mom closes the refrigerator. “So, you missed the game last night?”

The disappointment comes back immediately.

“I tried.” And I had.

I was supposed to go to the Phoenixes’ first home preseason game last night, but a late call with an author in Seattle turned into a much longer call with an author in Seattle. By the time I escaped Wilder House, making it to Ignite before the game ended would’ve required teleportation.

I considered trying anyway.

Then Mom reminded me she and Dad were leaving Evergreen early this morning, and I’d looked around Bishop’s apartment at the evidence that I was slowly taking over his guest room and decided maybe cleaning wasn’t the worst idea.

“Well, tonight will be better anyway.” Dad opens one of the containers and peers inside.

Mom slaps his hand away. “That’s for them.”

“I was looking.”

“You were stealing a dumpling.”