Kellen returned Carlos’s smile, a smile that was reserved especially for him and always tightened Marcella’s heart. “Hey, bud. What’s goin’ on? How was that math test?”
He scrunched his face up in dislike. Much like his great-grandmother, he hated math. “I think I did okay.”
Kellen ruffled his hair. “Good deal. Wanna hit the books tonight after some Rock Band?”
Carlos nodded and yelled, “Deal!” before heading back to his friends.
“So who’s this little critter?”
“Omigod, you’ll never believe it, honey! It’s Darwin.” Marcella held him up in the sunlight with a beaming smile. To which Darwin responded by hanging limp and boneless, giving Kellen a look of dry indifference.
Kellen sank down beside her, wrapping an arm around her and resting his head on top of hers. He scratched Darwin under the chin. “I thought you said Darwin was Delaney’s dead dog.”
Leaning into him, she nodded and whispered, “He was. But I think he managed to, you know, find a host. I’m betting one that was well, you know . . .” Marcella winked.
“Ah,” Kellen said, entwining his fingers with hers. “So I guess Vern and Shirley’ll have to move over on the couch?”
Marcella smiled up at him and his generosity. “If he’s anything like the dog Darwin, he’ll own the couch.” Leaning forward, stroking Darwin whether he liked it or not, she commented, “So I saw Catalina today. She came in to order bat shit.”
“She okay?” Kellen asked.
Marcella’s face expressed her worry. She and Catalina shared a tentative friendship that included nothing more than the occasional chat when Catalina came to pick up supplies from the store. They exchanged pleasantries, and not much else, leading Marcella to believe that Catalina felt just the way she had when she was a demon. She didn’t want to become attached to anything remotely human. And Marcella understood that better than anyone, but someday, when the time was right, she wanted Catalina to know she had an ear, if she wanted to bend one. “Ever since that night when she saw Dameal, I feel like she’s been hiding something. But I figure, when she’s ready, she’ll talk about it.”
Kellen smiled at her. “I hope so, honey. Until then, I’m starving. What delicacy have you brought me today, my pretty Betty Crocker? Is it some chunky flan maybe? That’s my total favorite. Wait, Hamburger Helper, right? Raw, I hope?”
Settling a reluctant and stiff Darwin on her lap, Marcella stuck her tongue out at him and reached into the portable cooler she’d brought and handed Kellen a sandwich. “Lunch,” she offered proudly.
He gave Delaney a hesitant look and whispered, “Did she make it or did you?”
Marcella swatted his shoulder. “Hey! I slaved over a hot jar of Skippy and walked a full mile to school to come see you on your lunch hour, and this is the thanks I get? I think I might have to reconsider that proposal, Mr. Markham,” she teased.
Delaney snarfed, scooping up little Ella and nibbling her chubby fist. “After what I went through, talking you out of that bridesmaid dress that was meant only to be worn by a full C cup and a size two who calls a breath mint a healthy meal? Uh, no. You marry him or I’ll drag you to that altar by your long legs and make you wear something frumpy when I do it.”
“Like she’d pass up the chance to bag this,” Kellen joked, taking a bite of his sandwich and making mock noises of gourmet pleasure.
“So, I have an announcement,” Marcella said with pride.
Kellen held up his sandwich and grinned. “You’re leaving me to compete on Top Chef?”
Marcella tweaked his chin, lovingly wiping away a drip of grape jelly. “Guess who’s going to be earning her keep starting next Monday?”
“Shut up, Kell,” Delaney chastised with a grin. “So, did you get it?” She gave Marcella a secretive glance.
Kellen cocked his head. “Get what, honey?”
“A job! Guess who’s Pier 1’s newest employee?” Her excitement about nabbing a real, live job was matched only by the joy that she was entitled to an employee discount.
Kellen’s groan was long. “Does this mean we’re going to have a bunch of those foofy pillows in ten different colors and beaded lampshades?” He followed it up with a grin, kissing her lips.
Marcella giggled—something she did often these days, girlishly and filled with carefree exuberance. “This means, cranky-pants, that your fiancée’s joining the workforce just like every other mortal. The whole nine-to-five thing. All normal and average.”
Kellen took her hand in his and squeezed it. “You know what, future wife of mine?”
“What’s that?”
“In the biggest of ways, I dig normal and average. They’re the two prettiest words in the dictionary. You wear them well.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
Smiling up at him, Marcella pressed her lips to his and kissed him with every ounce of love she had to offer.
The kind of love that was anything—anything but average.
My Way to Hell Page 30