Page 13 of Tell Me Lies

“Hey, I want one!” Amelia whines, rushing to the counter and reaching her small hand toward the sideboard. “My daddy had one, so can I have one?” She glances up at Maci, whose grin spreads across her face.

“Yes, you can. I wanted to check that they were cool enough. But since your dad just inhaled one and didn’t get his throat burned off, I suppose they are all set now.” She passes her a cookie before looking at me. “Thanks for being the guinea pig.”

“Hey, if it means I get cookies, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” I shrug before turning around and leaning against the counter. “How was your and Amelia’s day?” I quickly glance down at my daughter before looking at Maci again. “Hopefully, she was good for you?”

The corner of Maci’s lips turns up as she smiles down at Amelia. “She’s always good,” she answers softly, and my heart swells in my chest.

Amelia is such a respectful human for only being three years old. And every time I hear it, I can’t help but feel so damn proud.

“We had a very good day. We went to the park, we had a puppet show, and we made cookies. So, I call it a win.”

“A puppet show, you say?” I widen my eyes at Amelia. “You don’t like puppet shows, do you?”

“Daddy!” she squeals, jumping up and down. “You know I love them. I love them the most!”

“Hmm …” I pretend to be thinking. “That’s funny. I thought … I thought I loved puppet shows the most.”

“No, Daddy. They are my favorite!” she says, holding the now half-eaten cookie in her hand, chocolate smeared all over her face. “You like hockey, Daddy. Ilike puppet shows.”

It probably makes me a toddler—the fact that I love to get a rise out of my three-year-old by pretending I love the stuff she does more than her. But, hey, she’s my best friend these days. I can’t help myself.

“All right, all right. Fine,” I mutter. “You are the biggest puppet-show lover. I get it. I get it. Geesh.”

“Yes, I am,” she says, content with my answer. “Daddy, can Maci stay for dinner with us?”

“Oh, sweetie … that’s okay,” she answers before I get the chance to. “Your dad has had a long day at the arena, and I actually have some things I should get to at home.”

“You mean Clyde?” Amelia says.

I’m sure I look confused because … who the fuck is Clyde? If it’s her boyfriend, why is she with someone who has the name of a ninety-five-year-old dude?

“Clyde is her doggy, and he’s so cute,” she says, looking at my face. “We went and checked on him earlier.”

“You have a dog?” I say, and she nods. “You can bring him here, you know. I love dogs.”

“No, Daddy, I love dogs! Me!” Amelia says. In her mind, she’s the only one allowed to like an animal even if it’s one a big portion of the world also loves.

“Oh, I would never do that. He’s … big. And he drools. A lot.” Maci shakes her head. “My neighbor is a widowed lady, and she loves Clyde. She goes over throughout the day and checks on him and even brings him over to her place.” She looks slightly embarrassed. “But, yes, sweetie, I do want to go home to my boy. He’s probably missing me, and I have to admit, I miss that big, drooly man too.”

“Can you go get him and bring him back, please?” She pokes her bottom lip out. “It’s pizza night. Daddy lets us make heart pizzas. I get to put my cheese on myself!”

Maci’s eyes find mine, and I tilt my head.

“She’s right. It is pizza night. And it would be a shame if Clyde got excluded from that.”

“Logan, he’s abigdog.” She widens her eyes. “He’s like a bull in a china shop.”

“He’ll be fine,” I assure her, waving down at myself. “I’m a big dude. So, maybe we’ll hit it off.”

I can tell she’s thinking about it. I’m sure, deep down, the lady just wants to go home and relax. She’s been with my kid most of the day.

But when she looks at Amelia one more time, she sighs. “All right, all right. I’ll go get him.” She heads toward the door, sliding on those bulky sandals that only she could make look cute. “But if he breaks anything or covers your hardwood floor in drool, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“The housekeeper comes tomorrow anyway.” I shrug. “We’ll have the pizza ready,” I call out. “What kind?”

Grabbing her bag from where it hangs, she pushes her hair over her shoulder. “Anything is fine. Really.” She looks at us once more and waves. “Be back in a bit. But I’ll tell you now, if pizza is around, he’s going to beg nonstop.”

As she leaves, closing the door behind her, I can’t wipe the stupid smile from my face. Because for the first time in a long time, I’m actually excited to hang out with someone who isn’t Amelia.

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