“Excellent contribution,” Knox says, standing up. “I have the water boiling for pasta. We’ll eat soon.À table.”
Amber helps me move the bags of groceries to the island while Maisie explores the kitchen, looking at the hanging pans and the big mixer with wide eyes.
“It’s so big in here,” she says, her voice echoing slightly. “It’s like a castle.”
“It’s a fortress,” I tell her. “We have everything we need. Even a chocolate defense system.”
She laughs, grabbing a chocolate from the bag. “Can I have one?”
“After dinner,” Knox says from the stove, turning back to the pot. “Lave tes mains,please. The sink is over there. Wash up.”
The dinner setup is casual but perfect. We don’t use the dining room tables; we pull a smaller round table into the kitchen area. It feels cozier.
I cook the meatballs—beef and pork mixed with herbs and breadcrumbs—while Knox finishes the sauce. Eli helps Amber set the table, arranging napkins with a care that makes me smile.
Maisie sits on a high stool near the island, swinging her legs and watching us.
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Amber says, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Smells like Sunday dinner.”
“It’s comfort,” Knox says. “And you need comfort after a flat tire.”
We eat together. The food is simple—pasta coated in rich red sauce, melting parmesan on top, meatballs the size of golf balls. Maisie attacks her spaghetti with enthusiasm, getting sauce on her chin.
“So,” I say, tearing a piece of garlic bread, “the debate. Tell us the strategy.”
Maisie swallows a massive bite of noodles, her eyes lighting up. “Okay, so, Tyler is on my team. Which is good because he yells a lot, but he listens to me when I tell him to stop. We’re going to do an opening statement about how facts are better than feelings.”
“Strong opening,” I say, grinning.
“Right?” She nods vigorously. “And then we have evidence about how gnomes are made of ceramic, so they can’t digest. And then I get to do the last part, which I practiced on Mommy yesterday.”
“She crushed it,” Amber says, sipping her water. “She’s going to destroy them.”
“I like that you’re confident,” Knox adds, cutting a meatball with precision. “But preparation is key. If you know your facts, you can’t lose.”
“Exactly.” Maisie points a fork at him. “See? Knox gets it.”
“He does,” Amber agrees. She looks at Knox, then at Eli, then at me, and back to Maisie. Her face is relaxed, the lines of stress that usually live between her eyebrows smoothed out. She looks happy.
It hits me then. Right in the chest. Seeing her here, eating my food, laughing with Knox and Eli while the snow melts outside.
It feels right. It feels like pieces of a puzzle I didn’t even know was broken have clicked into place.
“And cupcakes,” Maisie remembers, looking around. “You said?”
“In the oven,” Eli says, pointing to the oven with his fork. “Cooling now.”
“I helped make them,” I say, setting the plate down. They’re lemon—bright yellow frosting with rainbow sprinkles.
“Wow?” Maisie asks. “You can bake?”
“I can do a few things.” I wink.
Maisie takes a cupcake, devouring it in two bites. “Best dinner ever.”
Amber laughs, a sound that bounces off the stainless steel appliances. “I have to agree. The company is better than the food. Though the food is amazing.”
Knox nods, accepting the compliment with a rare, unguarded smile. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”
