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“Of course. I don’t mind taking him too.”
“That’d be great. He doesn’t love the bus.”
Owen makes a face and shakes his head.
“And the days I have a lighter schedule, I can pick him up, but as I said, it might be a little chaotic for the upcoming weeks, even in the afternoons,” Sutton says. He glances at Owen. “I’ll try my best to make it to all your hockey games and practices, but Felicity may have to get you there some of the time if I’m running late.”
Owen nods like they’ve already discussed this.
Sutton glances at me again and then points out the Wednesday night and Saturday morning practices. “I can handle Saturdays with no problem, but Wednesdays are sometimes challenging. He likes to skate after school on Mondays and Tuesdays too, but I’ll let you guys decide the days you want to do that. There might be other things you’d rather do, and that’s fine, but it’s an option. Games are typically Thursday nights or Sundays. During the week, I can let you know if it seems I might not be there to get him to the rink early enough, and then once I arrive, you’re free to go. Does that seem doable?”
“Absolutely,” I respond.
I feel Owen’s shoulder sag next to me and I glance at him, seeing disappointment on his face. I frown.
“Am I not allowed to stay for the practices and games?” I ask.
Owen’s eyebrows lift. “You can totally stay,” he says.
My heart melts when I see his hopeful expression.
“Oh, well, then yeah. I’ll just do that, especially on the days when I’m already taking you.”
“Really?” Owen’s eyes are like tiny starbursts, they’re shining so bright. He’s practically vibrating, and Sutton gives me a look I can’t quite decipher.
“How about we wait and see how you feel about that once you’re there?” he says quietly.
I feel reprimanded for some reason. It makes me wonder if I’ll run into Owen’s mom at the games and if that will be a problem, but Sutton mentioned something in our interview about her taking a job in Arizona. It must be a short-term thing though—I can’t imagine her moving that far away permanently.
“Okay, sure.” I shrug.
After we’ve worked on the schedule, they show me the rest of the house, how to work the remote, and a few ideas of what Owen likes to eat. I also find out Sutton is partial to Italian and Mediterranean food, which is fortunate, since I have a few favorite dishes that I think he’ll enjoy. Over the next couple of hours, I keep checking the stovetop. The crust is ready, and everything else should be soon too.
We’re playing a game of Bananagrams at the table when an ear-piercing explosion goes off.
“Get down,” Sutton yells, pulling me and Owen under the table.
He looks us both over carefully to make sure we’re okay before carefully peering over the table to look out the window. Owen reaches over and grabs my hand and I pull him next to me. I glance back at the window myself and don’t see anything suspicious.
Sutton stands up and walks to the door and is about to open it when I hear him say, “Holy shit.”
And then he lets out a laugh so loud, Owen and I stare at each other with wide eyes before carefully crawling out from under the table.
“It’s okay.” Sutton barely manages to get the words out. “You can get up.” He starts laughing again and I look around, trying to figure out what’s so funny.
I gasp. “Oh no,” I cry, rushing to the stove to turn off the burner.
Caramel drips from every surface of the kitchen. Even the ceiling has patches of caramel. The can of sweetened condensed milkexploded.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it. I asked my mom over and over if this was the right way to make this caramel pie and she swore it is.” I want to cry, but it’s also hilarious, and when I look at Sutton, he’s wiping his eyes from laughing so hard.
He meets my eyes and then comes over and sticks his finger in a big glob of it and licks it.
“Mmm, it is good,” he wheezes.
I lose it then, and even more when Owen joins in, sliding his fingers in as much caramel as he can reach.
“It’s one of my favorite pies,” I say, when I catch my breath. “That I will never attempt to make again.”
