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And catch Declan staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

He looks at the peanut butter. Then at Delaney. Then back at me. “Nothing.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

He shrugs. “Just didn't know you were taking breakfast orders now.”

“She's been putting peanut butter on pancakes since she was a kid.”

“Yeah,” Declan says slowly. “I know.”

He takes a bite. But I catch him looking between us once more before he turns his attention back to his plate.

Shit.

Across the table, Delaney keeps her eyes on her breakfast, although I can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.

Coach launches into a story about a Christmas tournament from our North Pines days, and the conversation moves on.

Mostly.

Declan argues that Coach cost us a championship by refusing to pull the goalie.

Coach reminds him we won that game.

“That's not the point,” Declan says.

“Pretty sure winning was the point,” I tell him.

Delaney laughs into her coffee. It's the first real laugh I've heard from her since last night.

I find myself wanting to earn another one.

Breakfast stretches longer than usual, with Mrs. B insisting everyone take seconds and Coach complaining that nobody appreciates how much work goes into keeping a house warm during a Michigan winter.

By the time we finish, the windows have fogged around the edges, and Declan has eaten enough pancakes to put himself into a food coma.

Delaney helps clear the table.

I stand to take the platter from her, but she gives me a small shake of her head. “I've got it.”

Three words.

Nothing cruel about them. Still, I wish she'd let me help.

A few minutes later, I see her take the old quilt from the back of the living room sofa and slip out through the kitchen door.

Mrs. B watches her go.

Then she glances at me.

I look away.

Declan pushes back from the table.

“Dad, you've gotta see this replay from last night's game.”