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Aiden is already at the lake by the time we arrive. Bee is keeping her distance, convinced Aiden will know something is going on if there are fewer than four feet between us.
I hate keeping secrets from him, but I’m terrified of losing her.
Aiden claps me on the back as we hug. “Back at the lake. What a surprise.”
“Worried the sunlight will age you even more?” I tease.
He laughs. “I’ve seen those grays. And I’m sure being here has got nothing to do with the cinnamon rolls at Chu.”
“It’s the perfect ratio of dough to cinnamon.”
Aiden holds up a bag. “Well, it’s lucky I got their last two. They even halved them for us.”
“You’re a saint amongst saints.”
He takes a bow. “Thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.”
We lay out a blanket on the grass, nestled between tens of other groups who have done the same. Bee remains quiet, keeping her distance as she sits. I rub at my jaw to stop myself from pulling her closer.
“So,” Aiden says, “has momma Wolfe given the house her approval yet?”
“No” is all I say. I’ve successfully avoided thinking about it for the last few days, and while the guilt is steadily eating at me, it can get in line. I have enough on my plate. But I can’t avoid it forever.
Bee smooths out the blanket. “I keep expecting her to pop over. If you want me out of the house, I can go to Morgan’s.”
“You don’t have to leave. It’s your house too,” I say.
The cinnamon roll breaks apart easily, and despite hoping someone will pick up the conversation, my luck is for shit today. “Honestly, I’ve been putting off having her over.” And even I can hear the flat tone in my voice. “She’s going to ask abouthim, and I don’t have an answer for her.”
“You’re running low on time, though,” Aiden unhelpfully reminds me.
“I’m aware.”
Bee is characteristically quiet. “Your dad?”
I scratch at my jaw and nod.
Now that he’s effectively killed the mood, Aiden jumps up. “Think I’ll grab something from the food trucks. Back in a bit.”
He’s up and off in a shot, striding purposefully toward food and, I suspect, the tall redhead manning the truck.
Beside me, Bee is quiet and at least two feet too faraway. I want to close the distance, to not have to censor myself in front of my friend, to pull her into my arms and show the world what she means to me.
I want a lot of things.
“Want a coffee?” There’s a cart nearby, its bright blue sign a literal beacon. There are already a handful of weary parents in line.
“You stay. I’ll get it.”
Bee is on her feet before I can stop her. “You’re always treating me. Let me do something for you for once.” The apples of her cheeks are tinged pink.
It’s a good look on her.
“Okay,” I say, reaching up to catch her fingers, brushing them gently before she leaves.
The park is bustling, bright and energetic. On the other side of the lake, I can make out a half dozen friends tossing a ball around. A dachshund yips at the ducks as it passes, and a mother is breastfeeding on a blanket next to me.
Hank and Alice are walking past but stop when I wave and make their way over. “How is the family?” Hank asks, wearing a glitteringthey/thempin proudly attached to their gray shirt.
