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“Bye, Mama,” Toby says, giving me a wave over his shoulder, far too excited about spending the afternoon at the arcade to notice the tension between the two.
“You’re welcome to stay for dinner too,” I say to Dalton, who watches Daisy pull open the door to his car, helping Toby inside. I notice he already has a car seat situated in the back seat. I give him a questioning look.
“Drix said Toby needed a car seat,” he explains.
“You could’ve just borrowed mine,” I reply.
He shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate you looking out for him.”
“See you later then,” he says, moving to step away.
“You should use the time to clear the air with Daisy,” Drix urges Dalton, who falters, resting his eyes on him.
“Who told you?” Dalton questions, looking at me.
I hold my hands up. “It didn’t come from me.”
Drix swipes a hand through his hair. “AJ’s friend was at the restaurant, he told him what happened. That information got back to me,” he explains. “Just make amends, okay?”
He nods. “I’ll try,” he says, before twisting on his heel and striding towards the car.
Drix closes the door, leaning back against it as he eyes me.
“Daisy asked me not to say anything,” I explain, feeling immeasurably guilty.
“Hey, I understand. They’re always arguing. Been like that since we were kids,” he says, shaking his head. “I love them both. I just wish they’d get on.”
“Can’t be easy being caught in the middle,” I offer.
“Sometimes I think…” His voice trails off as he shakes his head.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“I’m really sorry, Drix. I didn’t want to break Daisy’s trust. I figured she’d tell you in her own time.”
He shrugs. “She would’ve eventually, but I didn’t feel like playing mediator for weeks on end like I usually do. Figured it couldn’t hurt throwing them together so they could sort their shit out once and for all.”
“I’m not sure a few hours at the arcade is going to cut it,” I muse.
“It’s worth a shot.”
“I guess.”
Drix pushes off from the door. “So…”
“So…?” I reply, heat flooding my cheeks at the mischievous look he gives me.
“Do you want to see my Fred Flinstone?” he asks, a flirtatious smile pulling up his lips.
“I’ve already seen it,” I flirt back with a grin.
“Not this one you haven’t,” he says, striding towards me, and twining his fingers with mine.
“You really do like Funko Pops, don’t you?” I ask, gazing at the shelves filled to the brim with them in his office. There are so many, and all of them are in pristine condition.
