Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Keats
“You only come here for breakfast for two reasons.” My brother eyes me over the mug of coffee perched close to his mouth.
“The first is that I love you,” I say with a straight face. “The second is that I love your daughter more.”
Berk huffs out a laugh. “Try food or women.”
“I’ve tried both,” I quip. “If I had to choose, it would be food. Your pancakes, to be exact.”
My brother jerks a thumb toward the pantry in his kitchen. “Help yourself. I ate a bowl of cereal an hour ago. Stevie’s breakfast choice as of late is overnight oats and smoothies. If you want pancakes, you’re on your own.”
I drop onto one of the stools next to the massive granite topped island. “There was a time when you used to cook for me. You didn’t want to see me go hungry.”
Berk crosses the kitchen to pour a mug of coffee. On this way back toward me, he scoops an apple into his hand from a wicker basket. Both are placed in front of me. “Here’s your breakfast. Stop fucking whining.”
I bite into the apple. “You owe a hundred to the fund.”
With his mug back in his hand, he takes a sip of coffee. “Why the hell are you here at this hour?”
“You’re up to two hundred now,” I point out. “It’s after seven. Aren’t you the guy who always brags that he’s up by six a.m.?”
“That wasn’t an invitation for you to show up here.” He shoves his hand in my direction. “Give me back the keys, Keats. If you’re going to barge in here whenever you damn well feel like it, I’m going to decide whether I let you in.”
I pick up the keys and dangle them in the air. “You can’t take them back. Besides, I didn’t want to ring the bell. It would have woken Stevie up.”
Berk nods. “You can keep the keys, but only because I saw you creeping outside the house on the doorbell cam, so I knew you were on your way in.”
I shove the keys into the back pocket of my jeans. “Aren’t you glad I had that security system installed for you?”
When I had one installed in my townhouse, I decided Berk and Layna needed the same system. He scoffed at the idea at first, telling me that the Upper West Side is safe.
It is, but having the ability to open an app on your phone and talk to whoever the hell is ringing your doorbell is priceless.
I had a ten minute conversation with a pizza delivery driver last year as he stood in the pouring rain on my stoop.
I told him I didn’t order the five large pies in his hands. He insisted that I did.
I was right since I was lazing on a beach in the Caribbean at the time.
I felt sorry for the guy, so I paid electronically for the food and a tip. I sent him here to deliver dinner to my brother and his daughter.
Whoever the hell ordered that food missed out. Berk said it was some of the best pizza he’s ever had.
“I appreciate that,” Berk concedes. “I still want to know why you’re here.”
“Maren,” I say her name to him for the first time.
He tugs on the bottom of his blue T-shirt. I suspect I interrupted him mid-workout judging by the shorts he’s wearing and the fact that sweat was dripping from his forehead when he confronted me in the hallway.
Berk converted one of the bedrooms into a mini home gym so he can spend more time with Stevie. He cherishes every second he has with that kid. I do too.
“Maren,” he repeats her name. “That’s pretty.”
“She’s pretty.” The words fly out before I can stop and think.
My brother’s curiosity is piqued. I see it in the way the corners of his lips curve up and the tilt of his chin. “Tell me about Maren.”
“Who?” Stevie rounds the corner dressed in dark jeans and a colorful sweater emblazoned with a unicorn picture. On her feet are the sneakers I bought her last month. They’re white with pink polka dots.
“My assistant.” I look to my brother for his reaction.
Both of his brows arch. “Maren is your assistant?”
“Wow.” Stevie starts toward the fridge. “I like her name. What is she like?”
Home.
I chase that away because where the fuck did that come from?
“She’s smart,” I answer honestly.
Stevie glances over her shoulder at me. “Smart is good. What else?”
“Maren is kind,” I offer. “She’s taking care of Dudley.”
“I need to meet her.” Stevie places a small mason jar filled with something that looks slimy on the counter. “I want to see Duds.”
I watch as my niece unscrews the lid of the jar before she plops a spoon into the mess inside.
“Are you going to eat that?” I lean back on my stool.
With a nod, she shoves a spoonful into her mouth. “Daddy makes the best overnight oats ever.”
Berk tosses me a look. “You should try them sometime, Keats.”
I push back to stand. “Hard pass.”
“Are you going to work dressed like that?” Stevie takes in my jeans and hooded sweatshirt.
I lift my chin. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“If you were in my class, I’d say nothing, but you’re an adult.”
I spin in a circle. “I’m the boss. I can wear what I want.”
That earns me an eye roll. “Wear your dark blue suit with the pink silk tie. And those brown shoes that are on the second shelf in your closet.”
“I’m supposed to take fashion advice from an eight-year-old?” I laugh.
She drops her spoon and heads toward me with her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Trust me, Keats. It’s your best look.”
I don’t know why, but I trust the kid. I plan on showering and putting on the suit when I get home.
“What color shirt?” I ask.
She purses her lips together. “Go with white. That way the tie will pop.”
“Done.” I lean forward to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Learn something new today.”
“You too.” She smiles.
“Smart…as a whip,” I quip.
She throws her head back in laughter. “Yes, I am.”
Berk takes a step forward. “We’ll talk more later?”
He’s curious about Maren. I don’t blame him. I haven’t talked to my brother about a woman in a hell of a long time. “You bet.”
“I want to meet Maren, “ Stevie says as she marches back to her jar of oats. “I miss Dudley.”
“I’ll make that happen.” I toss her a wave. “I think you’ll like her.”
Stevie scoops up a spoonful of her breakfast. “If you do, I know I will.”