“I know.”
That made me look up.
He shifted the pans higher. “You told me she likes flowers that look intentional.”
The warmth in me deepened, because yes, I had said that once. And apparently Micah Sutton stored details like they were worth money.
“Come on,” I murmured.
I led him into the house, and the second we stepped inside, the room tilted. Not stopped. Just changed shape the way family rooms did when somebody entered who mattered more than ordinary company.
My mother came first, because of course she did.
“Micah.”
“Mrs. Vaughn.” He handed over the flowers before she could even reach for them. “These are for you.”
That pleased her.
I saw it in the way her shoulders eased and the tiny pause before she took them. My mother liked men with home training still intact.
“These are beautiful,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
My mom’s eyes met mine and shone with approval.
My father came in from the deck a second later with a grilling fork in one hand and smoke still clinging to him. He gave Micah that long, measuring look fathers did when they knew exactlywhy a man was standing in their kitchen and still wanted to see how he carried himself before they decided what to make of him.
Micah met it easy.
“Mr. Vaughn,” he said, reaching out.
My father shook his hand, then looked at the foil pans. “Your mom make that mac and cheese and peach cobbler?”
Micah shook his head. “No, sir. I made it.”
That quieted both of my parents for one second.
My mother looked up from the counter.
My father looked back at Micah.
“You cook?” my father asked.
Micah smiled a little and glanced at me, and all I could think about was that first breakfast in his kitchen, him at the stove shirtless and smug and entirely too capable for my peace.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “My mom made sure of that.”
My father let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Well I’ll be. Son, I guess one of y’all need to be good at it if you don’t want to starve.”
The whole kitchen laughed.
Everybody except me, which they only found funnier.
A few minutes later, the front door opened again, and the sound of children came in before anybody announced themselves. My mother looked up from the counter so fast I thought she might drop the spoon in her hand.
Nicole walked in with Jalen behind her carrying a foil pan in one hand and their youngest’s backpack in the other, both of their kids already moving like they had been promised dessert if they behaved for the first three minutes.
