Delia doesn’t look at me as she scrambles eggs. Her anger radiates from her like the waves of heat off the stove. When Coby comes out of the back room, fully dressed and tugging on fingerless black gloves that leave his knuckles exposed, she dumps the eggs onto a plate and leaves them on the edge of the stove.
Coby frowns at me. “It’s really not that big a deal—”
“No, it’s okay.”
I push by Delia and take the plate. “Be civil.” I keep my voice low so Coby won’t overhear.
“I don’t like him.” She doesn’t bother to lower her voice.
“I don’t care.”
At the desk, I motion for Maeve to stand, and then hold the chair out for Coby. “Have a seat,” I say with an apologetic smile. When he does, I set the eggs in front of him and whisper, “Don’t mind them.”
But it’s hard not to. Delia leans ag
