Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JACE
“I find it interesting that women continue to fall for your antics.”
“My antics are the best part about me. Without them I only have my chickens and they’re much less charming.”
Vamp Got Your Tongue by Lena Benjamin
I gulped. I knew this was going to be an issue.
I was standing in Polly’s kitchen on Monday morning in front of Barry, a recipe for flaxseed almond pancakes staring at me. Mocking me.
Did I know what the hell a flaxseed was?
No.
I was in deep shit.
I didn’t sleep well. The image of Polly in the library, tight black leggings and thin college T-shirt, was burned into my mind as much as the feel of her delicate hand, holding on to me, trusting me. She’d been pretty as ever this morning. I made coffee as we made small talk in the kitchen, keeping my hands busy so I didn’t accidentally reach out to grip her waist and bury my face in her neck, breathing in all that she was. I held the coffee cup in my hands as Polly explained that Ryla and Max typically slept until half past seven or so, my eyes tracking her down the hallway when she left for the day.
I watched the rain fall outside as I drank my coffee, taking in the grand view of the Smokies in the distance. This property was easily twenty or thirty acres. I couldn’t see a neighboring property from my vantage point here. Anger flared in my gut, recalling what Polly told me about her upbringing in this house. How isolated she must have been. After finishing my coffee, I pulled up Barry, bringing me to my current predicament.
Cooking was “not a gift I received,” as Pop so delicately put it years ago. Scrambled eggs and toast were as gourmet as I got. So, when Polly asked if I could cook during our tour yesterday, hope in her eyes, I lied.
“What is flaxseed?” I asked my phone.
“It’s in there.”
I jumped and turned, staring at Polly’s mini-me in heart pajamas, carrying a giant elephant under one arm and what looked like a small goat with horns under the other.
My eyes shifted to where she was pointing: the pantry. Made sense.
“Good mornin’ to you, lil’ miss. I was fixing to grab the almond flour and flaxseed so I can make us some pancakes, what do ya say?”
Unmoved by my enthusiastic Southern charm, Ryla, hair and face still a little sleep rumpled, walked over to me, tossed her stuffed animals on the counter, crawled up onto a stool, then looked to me like an owl and blinked.
Alrighty. Someone wasn’t a morning person.
“Be right back.”
I went into the pantry, but it was hopeless. I had no idea what a flaxseed was. It sounded more like a sneeze than a food.
“Can you make pancakes?” Ryla asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway of the pantry like a ninja, making me jump into action. I tried to make myself look busy by rummaging around the pantry shelves.
“What? Sure, I can.”
In response, Ryla gave me a sure you do look that a girl her age should not know how to do. Maybe it was ingrained into every woman’s DNA, because I’d seen exactly five people give me that look and they were all female: my mother, my sister, Rae, Sienna, and now, this six-year-old spitfire.
Ryla took a few steps into the pantry and muscled a large paper sack into her arms. I knelt down, taking it from her, reading the front of the package. Almond Flour read the label. I gave a resigned, breathless chuckle as Ryla moved on quietly, next plucking a small plastic canister from the same shelf and holding it up. Ground flaxseed it read. Grinning sheepishly, I ushered her out of the pantry and put the ingredients on the island next to Barry. I eyed the recipe again, then back down to Ryla.
She lifted her arms up.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
“Pick me up,” she ordered, making me jump to attention and pick her straight up, holding her by the armpits.
“Put me down,” she ordered again, pointing to the island.
Once I placed her on the countertop, she sat cross legged, then spun Barry toward her.
“Flaxseed almond pancakes, strawberries, turkey bacon,” she read aloud, then eyed me, seeing through my lie and directly into my soul.
I hedged my bets, squinting at her out of one eye. “When does your brother wake up?”
She shrugged. “Later.”
“Does he eat breakfast?”
“Sometimes.”
Helpful. Truly helpful. I pointed to the menu, taking a deep breath and trying again. “Does he eat this breakfast?”
“No. He has the honey Cheerios.”
Interesting. More interesting because it wasn’t written down.
“How committed are you to these pancakes?” Because strawberries and turkey bacon I could do. Flaxseed almond pancakes? Not so much.
She continued to look at me blankly.
I tried again. “Let me say it this way. If I make the strawberries and turkey bacon, will you eat the Cheerios instead of the pancakes and call it a deal?”
Ryla crossed her arms, looking ready to play hardball. “What will you give me?”
I crossed my arms right back. “I like your style. What are you thinking? A high five? A piggyback ride? What kind of currency are you expecting here?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Ten bucks?” I shouted, lowering my voice when I remembered Max was sleeping. “Try again. You think I was born yesterday?”
She actually brought her index finger to her chin and tapped it, making me sweat. A mischievous smile spread over her face. “A dog.”
I frowned. “I think you’re getting colder here.”
“One cup almond flour,” she read aloud, looking down at the menu, then back at me.
This girl was a human lie detector.
The defeat in my voice was obvious as I dropped my arms to my sides. “What kind of dog?”