Plenty of time. I turn back to what I’m doing and focus, because I’ll be damned if I let another pancake burn. I’m flipping the last ones onto the stack when my phone buzzes again.
Elle’s eyes light up, mouth full of blueberries. “Is that her?”
“It’s a text,” I say, reaching for it.
Penny’s name lights up the screen, and I see a photo first. It’s the lake in early morning light, silver and flat and stupidly icy. At the bottom of the shot, there’s a duck mid-stride, wings fanned out slightly like he’s getting ready to chase her.
Penny:Ten minutes away! I stopped to admire this extremely confident and mildly terrifying duck. I prefer penguins. Show Elle!
I feel an easy warmth shift in my chest from the simple care in her words. I reread it twice, noticing too late that Elle is practically climbing onto the counter to see.
“Is she coming?”
“Ten minutes away.” I angle the phone toward her. “And she sent a picture.”
Elle gasps. “That’s the duck that steals fries!”
“It’s not the same duck, bug.”
“It is. That’s Mr. Waddles.”
“He has a name?”
“He does,” she insists. “And he stole my fries when I was there with Miss Mabel!”
“Then he’s a criminal.”
“That’s not what criminal means,” she says seriously, and I make a mental note that we’ll need to go over that later.
I type back before I think about it too much.
Me:See you soon. Watch out for duck theft.
Penny:I’ll keep my maple syrup guarded.
I set the phone down and turn back to the stove, moving the frypan to the sink to cool and wiping my hands on a towel.
“She’s actually coming,” Elle whispers to herself.
“She said she would,” I reply.
I move on autopilot to get the plates out, the syrup uncapped, and the glasses lined up. I wipe the counter again, even though it doesn’t need it.
“Daddy,” Elle says carefully, watching me. “Are you nervous?”
“No.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re doing your serious face.”
“I always do my serious face.”
She slides off the stool and runs for the living room instead of arguing, probably to ensure she has all her trinkets ready and lined up to show Penny. Gus follows her halfway, then circles back to me, tail thudding against the cabinet.
The knock comes eight minutes later, and Gus explodes into sound. Elle squeals and bolts for the door at the same time.
“Walk,” I warn, stepping in front of her and catching the handle before she can yank it open.
Penny stands there with one hand tucked into her coat pocket. Her soft pink sweater brings out the flush in her cheeks and the rose in her lips, and her hair’s slightly tousled from the walk.
