Even with the act, the others smothered her with concern, peppered her with more questions, slung outrage at the other driver. And dumped gratitude on him until he felt buried in it.

He figured he and Parker hit about the same level of relief when the topic shifted.

He liked listening to them, all of them. Group—or he supposed more like family—dinner ran long, ran loud, and involved a whole hell of a lot of cross talk.That was fine with Mal. It meant he didn’t have to say much himself, and to his way of thinking you learned more about people when you let them take the wheel.

“What are you going to do with your pool table?” Jack asked Del.

“I haven’t decided.”

It stirred Malcolm enough to ask. “What’s wrong with the pool table?”

“Nothing.”

“Del’s selling his house and moving in here,” Carter told Mal.

“Selling it? When did that happen?”

“A very recent development.” Del arched his eyebrows at Mal as he buttered one of Mrs. Grady’s fancy crescent rolls.“You want to buy it?”

“What the hell would I do with it? It’s big enough for a family of ten and their grandparents from Iowa.” He considered as he cut another bite of ham. “Any way to just buy the game room?”

“Afraid not. But I’ve got a couple ideas on all that.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to sell the pinball machines.”

“Where are you going to put them?” Jack demanded. “You’ve barely got room to turn around in that place over your mother’s garage.”

“For the classics I’ll toss out my bed and sleep on the floor.”

“Boys and their toys.” Laurel rolled her eyes toward Del. “You can’t put yours in our bedroom. Line in the sand, Delaney. Indelible line.”

“I had a different location in mind.” Del glanced at Parker. “We’ll talk about it.”

“All right. I thought you might want to convert one of the attics,” Parker began, “but I took a look myself, and I don’t know that they’d safely hold all that weight. At least not if you wanted to keep the slate pool table.”

“I wasn’t thinking up. I was thinking down.”

“Down?” Parker repeated. “Where . . . Oh God, Del, not one of the basements.”

“How many attics and basements are in this place?” Mal whispered to Emma.

“Three attics, two—no, three basements if you count the scary boiler room where the demons who eat the flesh of young girls live.”

“Cool.”

“Sure, if you’re a young boy like Del was.” Emma narrowed her dark eyes as she glared across the table. “But if you’re a young girl playing Treasure Hunt, you could be scarred for life by a certain mean boy with a flashlight with a red bulb, a shambling walk, and a low, maniacal laugh.”

She picked up her wine, shuddered a little. “I still can’t go down there.”

He tuned back in while Parker and Del batted basements around, Laurel sat smiling into her wine, Jack grabbed another roll, and Mac whispered something in Carter’s ear that made the tip of that ear flush pink.

Interesting.

“Look,” Del said, “you use the west wing basement to store event supplies—extra tables, chairs, whatever.”

“We’re buying more. Investing in our own,” Parker pointed out. “So we snag the rental rather than subbing it out.”

“Which is good business. I’ve been down there too many times to count when I’ve pitched in with events.You have enough space for a showroom.”

“It’s not the space, Del, you can have the space.” Obviously weighing options, Parker frowned at her water glass, then at Del. “We could move the storage to the east side, but even then—”

“No, no!” Emma waved both hands. “It’s too close to the Hellmouth.”

“And he’s still there,” Del said darkly, “waiting for you.”

“I hate you, Delaney. Beat him up, Jack,” Emma demanded.“A whole lot.”

“Okay. Can I finish this roll first?”

“East, west,” Parker interrupted, “it’s still a basement. There’s next to no natural lighting, the ceilings are barely seven feet, concrete floors, parged walls, pipes everywhere.”

“All the better for a Man Cave. Besides, why do you think I keep him around?” he gestured at Jack. “He’s more than a pretty face.”

“Take a cavernous basement and remodel it into a MEA? That’s Manly Entertainment Area, to you civilians,” Jack explained as interest lit in his smoky eyes. “I can do that.”

“The walls are a foot thick,” Del went on,“so the space could be used even during events and nobody’d hear a thing.” He lifted his wineglass, swirled the last half inch of wine while he aimed his gaze at Emma. “Just like nobody hears the pitiful screams of girls being eaten alive by the demon with a single red eye.”

“You bastard.” Emma hunched her shoulders.

“Let’s go take a look.”

Parker stared at Del. “Now?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not going down there,” Emma muttered.

“Aw, baby.” Jack leaned over to wrap an arm around Emma. “I’ll protect you.”

She shook her head at Jack. “You say that now.”

“You guys go ahead.” Mac waved her wineglass. “Carter and I are just going to finish our wine, then we have . . . some things to do at home.”

“There’s peach pie yet,” Mrs. Grady announced.

“Well . . .” Mac smiled. “We have dessert at home, don’t we, Carter?”

His ears blushed again. “Apparently.”

“Come on, Mal,” Del invited. “We’ll give you a tour of the depths, work up an appetite for pie.”

“Sure.” He rose after they did, reached for his plate to clear it.

“Leave that for now.” Mrs. Grady wagged a finger at him.“Go on and explore first.”

“Okay. Best ham I ever ate.”

“I’ll wrap some up for you to take home.”

He bent down as he passed her.“I owe you a dance,” he whispered in her ear and made her laugh.