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Lie number two. At this rate, I should probably stop talking altogether.

Mrs. B turns from the stove, a spatula in one hand. “There you are, sweetheart. Merry Christmas.” She gives me a quick hug before pointing toward the counter. “Coffee's fresh. Pancakes are almost done. And don't let Declan touch the bacon.”

“I'm sitting right here,” Declan says.

“Then you heard me.”

I grin. “Got it.”

I pour myself a cup of coffee just as Delaney comes around the corner from the hallway.

She's wearing red plaid pajama pants and a cream-colored sweatshirt, her hair piled on top of her head and her glasses slipping down her nose.

I know what she looks like first thing in the morning now. Know the way she squints at the coffee maker before she's had her first cup. How she usually steals my side of the bed sometime after two in the morning. And how she likes to tuck her cold feet beneath my legs when we're watching television. Knowing all those things and having to act like I don't is getting harder by the day.

“Merry Christmas,” she says to the room.

Coach looks up. “Merry Christmas, pumpkin.”

Declan reaches for another piece of bacon. “Morning, brat.”

“Morning, asshole.”

“Language,” Mrs. B says automatically.

I smile at Delaney. “Morning, Becks.”

Her eyes meet mine. “Morning, Bishop.”

It's polite. Too polite.

She reaches past me for a mug, careful not to touch me.

I step aside.

And that little bit of distance bothers me more than it should.

Last week, I could reach for her without thinking. This morning, I’m standing close enough to touch her and wondering whether I’ve lost the right.

“Everybody sit,” Mrs. B announces. “Before these pancakes get cold.”

We gather around the kitchen table, where she's set out enough food to feed half the Phoenixes' roster. Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, and a bowl of strawberries Delaney immediately pulls toward herself.

Coach reaches for the syrup.

Declan starts stacking pancakes onto his plate.

And Delaney settles into the chair across from me.

I watch her spread butter across her pancakes before glancing toward the center of the table. Without thinking, I get up and open the pantry. “Here.”

I set the peanut butter beside her plate.

She looks up.

For half a second, her expression softens. “Thanks.”

I sit back down.