Page 37 of Embers in Autumn
I didn’t answer, not out loud. Amber was special. More than I’d expected. I dropped our plates into the sink, rinsed them, and grabbed my keys while Lana slipped on her backpack. She dragged her feet out to the truck, still clutching the last half of her omelet folded into a piece of toast like I wouldn’t notice.
On the road, the morning sun painted the whole town in gold. She chewed, swallowed, then looked over at me with that sharp curiosity that was too old for her age.
“So,” she said. “What are you making?”
I frowned. “What am I—what?”
“For the date.” She said it casual, but her eyes glittered with mischief.
“It’s not really a date,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s more like aget-to-know-each-other dinner.”
She grinned. “Uh-huh. So what are you making?”
I sighed, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. “I hadn’t thought that far.”
“Tuna pasta bake,” she declared. “It’s your best dish.”
I gave her a side glance. “You’re telling me to make tuna pasta bake for Amber.”
“Yup. But not the canned stuff. Get fresh tuna. She’ll be impressed.”
“I thought pancakes were my signature dish.”
She blinked at me, deadpan. “Dad. Pancakes are breakfast. You can’t serve breakfast for dinner.”
“Why not? People do it all the time. Breakfast for dinner is a thing.”
“Not when you’re trying to impress a woman,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “Do you want her to think you can only cook like, three things?”
“I can cook more than three things.”
“Name four.”
I gripped the wheel tighter, trying not to laugh. “Steak.”
“That’s one.”
“Burgers.”
“Still beef.”
“Chili.”
“Beef again.”
“Lasagna,” I said triumphantly.
She crossed her arms. “That’s just fancy beef layered with noodles.”
I groaned, leaning my head back against the seat for a second. “You’re relentless.”
“Someone has to be,” she said, grinning. “Otherwise you’d feed her pancakes and call it a night.”
“Pancakes are good,” I muttered.
“Yeah. For breakfast,” she teased, turning back to thewindow.
We pulled up in front of the school, the lawn covered in kids in too-big coats and backpacks bouncing like parachutes. She opened the door, slung her bag over her shoulder, then paused and looked back at me.
