Page 78 of All Along The Watchtower

“Hell, yes.”

She cut us both big hunks while I got out butter. “It went fine. I like your moms. Mimi tried to teach me to make biscuits, but mine turned out like hockey pucks.”

“Yeah, that’s a skill that takes practice. I still can’t do it right.” It was something about overworking the dough. Given she spoiled me senseless with any food I wanted when I was home, I didn’t have much impetus to learn.

I accepted the slice of bread she offered. “You keeping up with your schoolwork?”

“Mostly. I got behind on some math, but Grandma Flo helped me catch up yesterday. Why does algebra have to be soboring?”

Kicking back against the counter, I bit into the bread and considered as I chewed. “Well, most adults will feed you this whole story about how you’ll use it all the time as a grownup, but the reality is that most don’t. So my theory is that it’s really just a rite of passage. Sucky, but then it’s done.”

Peyton winced. “I hear there’s more in high school.”

Which she’d be in by the end of the year. Holy shit. Not remotely prepared to think about that, I decided we needed a subject change. “Sad but true. How’s the pirate project coming? You said you’d been working on it while we were away.”

Her eyes lit up. “I found some really cool stuff in the museum archives about Black Sam Bellamy. Did you know he was actually friends with Benjamin Hornigold? And there’s thiswhole theory about—” She caught herself, biting her lip. “I should probably save that for my paper.”

I smiled, remembering my own fascination with pirate stories as a kid. It was hard not to be a little obsessed growing up by one of the biggest shipwreck graveyards in the country. “Is any of that actually relevant to your paper?”

“I mean… it might be.”

“Research whatever you want. Just don’t get so caught up in it that you miss the actual point of the assignment.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

The easy sarcasm didn’t remotely diminish from the fact that she’d just called me Dad for the first time. The sound of it was a punch to the sternum.

When I lapsed into silence, Peyton’s gaze flicked up to mine, uncertain. I knew she wouldn’t want me to make a big deal about it, so I bit off more bread to cover. “You need any help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. But…” She fidgeted with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Is Mr. Ed really gonna be okay?”

I didn’t want to make any false promises, but I didn’t want to scare her either. “The doctors think so. It’ll take time, but they’re optimistic.”

She nodded, relief clear on her face. “Good. Because I still need to show him what I found in those old maps. Whichever artist made mine clearly looked at the archives.”

“Artist?”

“Yeah. Peter said that a bunch of local artists were commissioned to make them, so that each one is a bit different and everybody feels like they’re getting a more specialized piece of history.”

“That’s cool.” Definitely more interesting than the mass-produced ones they’d had when we were kids.

We both continued to eat our bread in companionable silence.

“Hey, Peyton?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

She tensed up, a line forming between her brows. “For what?”

“Just for being gone so long. I know you had Mimi and Mama Flo, but I should have been here.”

“You were exactly where you were supposed to be. Bree needed you.” The declarative statement brooked no argument.

“Yeah, she did,” I conceded. “But I just didn’t want you to think you weren’t a priority for me.”

“I got it.” She paused, turning to cut another slice of bread. “So, are you and Bree dating now?”

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