43. Merrie
MERRIE
T he happy couple has gone upstairs for some quality time in the studio, and it’s no secret what they plan to do.
Sylvia has just moaned so loudly that we heard it in the kitchen.
Maybe I should turn up the music.
I’m glad that Colin has taken a few days off and vanished to parts unknown.
Sierra glances toward the stairs. “Do you think they’re…”
“Yes. Absolutely. And good for them.”
“Is that going to happen a lot?” She’s pacing back and forth in the kitchen, and there’s no way I’d let anyone so agitated handle a blow torch. I work on the custards myself, trying not to fantasize about what I’m missing.
I never did get smaller towels. Damn.
“I’ll guess in the affirmative. Be ready.”
She makes a face. “I’ll bet things are moist .”
“God, I hope so,” I say, giving Sierra two seconds to spin and glare at me .
She halves that time, the little over-achiever.
“That’s so gross.”
“Trust me, ma pétite , moist is much much better than not moist.”
“Ewwwwwww!” She grimaces and paces some more while I laugh at her. “You think this is funny.”
“The very best sex has a generous sprinkle of laughter. It’s fun.” I lift a hand to my mouth. “Oops, I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
She’s clearly uncertain what to say and eyes me for a minute. I beckon and offer the blow torch as an inducement.
It works.
She annihilates the first custard in her enthusiasm, burning the top to ash.
“A ritual sacrifice,” I say.
“Sorry.”
“It’s not supposed to look like nuclear fall-out.” I reclaim the blow torch and show her how to do it again. “Easy, easy. Take it slow and in increments.”
“Much more appetizing,” she agrees when I finish with a flourish. She gets her determined look and has another try. This one comes out much better and I congratulate her.
Her third try is perfect.
Then Mike groans and we both look up the stairs.
Time for a distraction, preferably a noisy one.
“I thought we were going to watch a cooking show,” I say.
She of the nimble adolescent fingers lays claim to my iPad and pulls up the show. “There’s only one I could find,” she says. “ So You Think You Can Cook .”
I restrain the urge to spit sparks but only just barely.
“We’ll have to put up with it then,” I say, as if I have no opinions on the matter at all.
“He’s Mike’s brother, you know. ”
“Who?”
“Austin Cavendish.”
Of all the Cavendishes in all the world. I turn to look at her, wondering how I failed to make this connection. How cruel is the goddess to force that coincidence upon me? “Are you sure?”
Sierra nods. “I said he was an asshole, and Mike agreed. He said at least now Austin is so famous that he’ll never come home again.”
That is mildly reassuring. The last thing I need is to ever cross paths with that… man.
On the other hand, I might enjoy making him aware of my perspectives.
No, I definitely would enjoy it, but he might sue me as a result.
Better he stays away. I might actually have some net worth soon.
“I guess that means he’s my uncle,” Sierra muses.
Poor kid.
“I guess you have a lot of new family now,” I say instead, proud of my diplomacy.
She laughs. “Or maybe none at all. You should have heard Mike’s dad.”
“You don’t look worried about it.”
Sierra shakes her head. “I don’t need him. I have my non-dad, and my dad, and Una and Mom and you, and that’s all the family anybody could need.”
“Amen, sister.”
The opening credits for the show roll and I wish I had a drink. Not Una’s tea or Sylvia’s flavoured soda water. No, I want a good old-fashioned drink. A double Scotch. Single malt. No ice. No damn twist.
There are more sounds from the studio. I turn up the volume on the show .
“There’s probably thrusting,” Sierra mutters, arms folded across her chest as she glares at the iPad.
“Mmm, hmm,” I say appreciatively, winning another dark look.
“Parents shouldn’t be allowed to have sex!” she insists. “It’s… it’s…” Lost for words, she makes a face, which eloquently conveys exactly what she means.
“Well, you know they did at least once, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“But they weren’t parents then!”
I smile. “They’re probably enjoying themselves and where’s the harm in that?”
Sierra shudders.
I lean closer so that our gazes are level. “What’s really the problem, kiddo? Don’t you want them to be together and happy?”
“I do. I do!” She wrinkles her nose. “But I have to see them later and pretend I don’t know what they were doing with the moist and everything.”
There is that. “I think you might have to reconcile yourself to a certain amount of thrusting in your vicinity in future. Maybe even some awkward breakfast moments.”
She shudders again and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing.
I watch Austin’s handsome mug for a minute instead and it gives me an idea. “You might get a sibling out of this, you know.”
Sierra looks up, clearly intrigued by the idea.
“You’d make a good big sister.”
“I would.”
“And anytime you want to come and crash here for a night, you just let me know.”
“Really? ”
“Really. I’ve got a couch that no one’s slept on in a while. Maybe it’s lonely.”
“Can I stay tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
She smiles radiantly and gives me a crushing hug. “Thank you, Merrie. You’re my honorary aunt.”
“Bite your tongue, girl. I’m your fairy godmother and don’t you forget it.” I pull back to look in her eyes. “Honorary aunts have no business introducing the innocent to the dark side.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I might.” I lean closer to whisper. “And if I do, you’ll thank me for it.” She laughs and laughs, which is the very best thing.
It distracts me from Austin Cavendish ripping the heart out of a contestant and shredding it before their eyes, making the most of the savagery that is his very special gift.
Bastard.