Chapter 3 #2
No way am I walking in on family breakfast time before I’m ready to face the day. Plus, my cami and tap-pants pjs don’t scream family-friendly.
Sticking my head out of the room, I make a dash for the bathroom across the hall and lock the door behind me.
It hasn’t changed much since childhood, everything’s charmingly old-fashioned and in good shape. The bathrooms might be a decent selling point for the house later.
They’re not bad, even with the shower sputtering with disuse before it stays on hot. By the time I emerge, I feel like I’ve had a spa routine.
I tie my wet hair back and head down, carefully running my hand along the railing.
The first thing I notice is that it doesn’t try to throw me to an early death today.
Huh.
Actually, it’s weirdly sturdy, not bending at all.
I give it a good push to test it, just like I did yesterday. It doesn’t budge.
I grit my teeth, noticing the gap torn out of the railing is gone too. There’s fresh, unstained wood there, smooth and nailed into place.
So.
Mr. Saintly Dadzilla thinks he can sneak around behind my back to play fix it after I point-blank forbid it.
I ignore the tiny spark of relief that no one’s at risk of falling anymore.
There’s no denying he solved this problem faster than anyone else, but—
Ugh.
I take a few seconds to swallow my pride before I face them.
The kitchen is bright and cheery, barely used since the last big renovation. It’s the main room PopPop made a point to update over a decade ago.
Unlike the bathroom, it’s sleek and modernish. U-shaped marble counters around a huge family table with a hint of Tuscan colors, the style in vogue well over a decade ago.
The twins are busy hauling plates of food to the table, enough to feed a small army, and there are four places laid out.
Four?
Oh, boy.
My stomach lurches.
I don’t let myself think about what that means.
The way our family mealtimes at home always came with some agenda in my parents’ house, especially as Ethan and I got older.
“Hi.” The boy looks up cheerfully. “I’m Dan, remember?” He points at his sister. “That’s Sophie. You saved her yesterday.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“I do remember. And that’s a little dramatic, kiddo, but thanks.”
Unable to help myself, my eyes flick from their smiling faces to where Kane huddles over the stove. By the looks of it, he’s wrapping up his feast prep.
He’s dressed casually in a hoodie that might be a size too small. The fabric stretches across those massive shoulders, and when Dan mentions me saving Sophie’s life, he sends the kid an annoyed glance.
Guess he still doesn’t like me.
Fine and dandy, it’s mutual.
But he turns, holding a frying pan with sizzling bacon, and nods at the table.
“Have a seat,” he says. “You like bacon?”
“There’s scrambled eggs too. Dad makes the best with the butter—oh, and toast!” Dan announces.
Sophie pulls a jar of Nutella from a bag on the counter and plunks it down on the table.
This is the most indulgent, classic American breakfast I’ve seen in ages.
Possibly the first time I’ve seen one outside a sitcom. Definitely not something I’m used to.
If I even bother with breakfast these days, it’s fast and healthy ninety percent of the time. Usually a grab-and-go yogurt parfait with chia seeds or an acai bowl or maybe just a banana on the way to getting on with my day.
I don’t skimp on coffee, though.
Life would suck without caffeine.
Like he can hear my thoughts, Kane pushes a button on a small sleek-looking coffee machine off to the side. It’s too new for this house, so it must be something he brought, and that convinces me to slide into my seat.
“Pancakes?” Daniel offers. He’s a miniature version of his dad, although he’s mastered the art of smiling. “We have maple syrup, bananas, and blueberries.”
“And Nutella,” Sophie chimes in. Her eyes are big behind her glasses as she looks at me shyly, then away again. Adorable.
“Berries and a little Nutella sound good,” I decide. Both their faces light up, and I know I’ve said the right thing. “Did anyone else notice the elves who fixed the stairs overnight?”
Kane snorts as he brings the bacon over and takes the final remaining seat. His sharp green eyes land on me like swords.
“I wasn’t about to risk another accident. Those old stairs are steep. Somebody could break their neck if they’re not careful.”
“Chill, Dadzilla. I said I was going to call someone.” I grip my butter knife tighter than necessary.
The kids giggle.
“No need. I saved you the trouble.” He looks away pointedly. “I’ll replace the burned-out bulbs, too, and start sanding down some splinters on the old dock. I noticed it’s a little rough this morning, but it has good bones.”
“It needs cleaning—that algae, yuck!” Dan wrinkles his nose. “It’s all covered in black stuff. It got all over my hands yesterday.”
“And your jeans,” Kane says with weary patience, but he sends Daniel a wink that makes the boy smile. “Looks like good weather to make it shine. Think I could get a little help?”
“You’re not my maintenance guy, Mr. Saint,” I remind him.
He glances at me quickly, then looks away before I can read any layered meaning behind that broody expression.
“And you can stop fussing. Consider it a perk of keeping us around,” he says firmly.
But I can hear what he doesn’t say. Let’s not argue in front of the kids.
Fine, idiot.
“Yeah, Dad, I’ll help,” Dan says. “Do you wanna start after breakfast?”
“Isn’t there something else you need to do first?”
“Huh? Like what?” The boy tries to sound innocent, and he isn’t fooling anyone.
I can’t help smiling, remembering when Ethan would do the same thing.
“You can come help out after you’ve finished your homework, little man. You promised me you’d start this school year strong before we left, and I’m holding you to it.” Kane gives him a knowing look.
“I’ll help you with math,” Sophie volunteers. “It’ll go way faster.”
It’s hard not to laugh at the way the boy scowls. So familiar.
Not that my brother was ever much help with homework.
Certainly not when he turned into a teenage punk, but when it came to family drama and friend group fights, he always had my back.
“Aw, do we have to do it now?” Daniel asks.
“Yes, Bud. The sooner you hit the books, the sooner you can hit the docks, and the faster we can all hit the water. Get moving and we might make it out on the lake today.”
Sophie’s face lights up.
The difference is stark.
When she forgets to be shy, she’s a pretty girl, radiating light. I bet she’ll be gorgeous when she’s older.
“You promise, Dad?” she asks excitedly. “Can I take my telescope? The little one?”
“Only if you let me make sure you’ve got the solar filter on first. I’m not letting you burn your eyes out staring at the sun,” Kane says, frowning as he crumbles more bacon on his pancakes.
“Yeah, I know!” Sophie chirps. “I actually just want to look at the scenery. No sky until after dark.”
“Well, bring it. As long as you promise not to look near the sun, Soph.”
“I’ll be like a pirate queen,” Sophie says, turning to me. “What about you?”
My heart skips a beat.
“What about me?” I pause, forkful of food halfway to my mouth.
“Are you like the landlord lady?”
“Yes, something like that,” I say awkwardly, determined not to look at Kane. “I mean, it’s not my real job.”
“What’s your real job?” Dan demands.
For a second, I hesitate. But they’re just kids.
Harmless, I hope.
“I design shoes,” I tell them. “It’s a work in progress, I mean, but that’s what I’d like to do.”
The interest in Dan’s face drains away, but Sophie looks at me in awe. “Shoes? You design shoes?” she whispers with reverence, like she can’t imagine anything cooler. She looks under the table at my feet. “Like, the kinda shoes you’re wearing? You have people walking around with your shoes?”
I laugh.
“Are there any other kind? Mine aren’t good enough to be worn just yet, but a girl can dream. I can show you some designs, if you want. Do you like shoes?”
Her cheeks flush.
“Love them, but I don’t really get a chance to—aw, never mind,” she mutters.
When I look over, Kane watches with a hawkish intensity.
Perfect segue to the question I’ve been wanting to ask since we met.
“What about you, Mr. Saint? What do you do?”
His gaze slides over my face.
I get the impression he’s sizing me up again, just like yesterday, and my shoulders tense.
“Nothing as glamorous as shoes,” he says, nodding at Sophie, who’s still watching me.
“No, but come on. Is it top secret or what?” I joke.
He sits back and shrugs, stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth, offering nothing.
Um, okay.
When my gaze intensifies, he finally says, “I exited a start-up recently. Still planning my next move. Looking for my next big headache, I guess.”
Start-up, huh?
That is a surprise.
He’s a certified dick, but he doesn’t exactly strike me as the dorky tech bro type with their head in the clouds—or just their bank account.
That’s also not much of an answer.
I want to poke him, but before I can fire off more questions, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it.” Kane levers up from his chair, but I wave a hand.
“No way. You enjoy your breakfast. It’s my house, remember?”
It’s a relief to get away from the table, even if I’m not sure why.
Maybe because it felt so warm with the kids making easy conversation. A far cry from the stuffy, formal dinners I had at my parents’ table as a kid.
They make it too easy to feel like more than an awkward stranger crashing their family getaway.
Thank God for the adorable kiddos, really.
Sitting next to Kane Saint feels jarring enough. If it was just him, I’m not sure I could stand sharing the house.
Still, I find myself breathing easier as I walk to the front door and turn the bolt.
I blink dumbly at the unfamiliar couple waiting outside.
They’re older and kind of worn-looking, all wrinkles and leathery tans that must come from years in the harsh sun. I’d guess they’re in their late forties or fifties, squarely middle age.