My face heats.
I look away first.
August has no use for adult tension. He crawls into the fort and makes roaring noises.
Derby clears his throat. “Kid eat?”
“Yes,” I say. “But he’ll pretend he hasn’t if food appears.”
“Good. I’m hungry.”
“You just had bourbon.”
“I had one sweet drink and emotional harassment.”
“You also had fries.”
“That was garnish.”
“You ate half a basket.”
“Still garnish.”
I follow him into the kitchen because I don’t know where else to go. The kitchen is cleaner than it was this afternoon, which means Sophie threatened someone. The groceries have been unpacked. The fridge has actual food now. Eggs, milk, sliced turkey, cheese, apples, yogurt, a covered plate of chicken strips, and a bowl of something wrapped in foil with a note on top.
Derby opens the note and reads it with a scowl.
“What does it say?” I ask.
“Lottie says to heat the green beans and not be a feral bachelor.”
“Good advice.”
“I knew those women were trouble.”
He opens cabinets until he finds a skillet, then pulls bread, cheese, turkey, and butter from the fridge.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Late-night snack.”
“That looks like grilled cheese.”
“It’s grilled cheese with meat. That makes it a melt.”
“It makes it a sandwich with ambition.”
He pauses, then points the butter knife at me. “That was good.”
“I told you I used to have a mouth.”
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Just for a second.
Long enough that the air changes.
Then he looks back at the bread like it has become deeply interesting. “Yeah. I remember.”