Evonnie glanced up from her phone. “I’m not doing that.”

He laughed. “It was an example. My point is, you can’t tell Bets that this counts as any kind of social interaction for Evonnie.”

“Leave me out of it,” the girl said, returning to the mobile game she was playing.

Dante sighed. “Fine. But if she asks, we were doing educational activities.”

“You’re not competing with Tyrone. No matter how well he treats Evonnie, he’s not you, okay? Take a breath.”

His friend seemed to appreciate the support, relaxing on the sofa next to his daughter. “What time is Miguel coming over? I can’t believe he’s bringing all his kids.”

Trev laughed. “Yeah, you can call it a playdate when they get here. I think the older two are around Evonnie’s age.”

The girl perked up. “Are they cool? Why haven’t I met them before now?”

Dante blinked. “I…don’t know. They stay pretty busy. Miguel’s wife keeps the kids in lessons. Dance, swimming, karate. When they’re not in school, they’re learning something else.”

“I’m not doing that to Melanie. I mean, if she says she’s interested, I’ll support her, but I won’t drag her around otherwise. I want her to play with toys and—”

“We get it, Father of the Year.”

Trev quieted, feeling a warm flush on his cheeks. “Was I soapboxing?”

“Little bit. And you’ve only been in the fatherhood game for a few months.”

“It doesn’t count when they’re oven buns?” he asked.

Dante shook his head. “It does not.”

“Bummer.”

“Quick question,” Dante said.

“What is it?”

“I happened to read this article…”

Trev thought he knew where this was going. “You’re wondering if Margie’s a witch?”

It made him sad that Margie hadn’t confided in Dante on her own. His friend liked her, but she was so closed off and skittish that it seemed improbable she’d ever let anyone in again all the way. What the hell did her ex do to her anyway?

“I mean, yeah.” Dante punctuated his words with a sheepish look.

“She is. The way I understand it, everyone in book club is. Except for Hazel Jeffords. She’s just lonely.”

“Holy shit,” his friend whispered.

Welcome to my world.

Trev got up to check the snacks and set them on the kitchen counter for easy access. There was a selection of fruit, nuts, cheese, and chips—all easily snatched up by grabby hands. Soon, there was a knock at the door, revealing Miguel and his four kids, ranging in age from twelve to four. He and his wife, Juanita, were prolific.