Chapter 6 Too Close To Home （Kane）
TOO CLOSE TO HOME (KANE)
Now that Margot’s confessed—and this time I believe her—I don’t mind her company, or the influence she has on my kids.
If only I could blunt her curiosity.
The day dawns clear and bright, and when she comes sailing into the kitchen for breakfast, blonde hair piled on her head and dressed casually in jeans and a grey sweater with a red stripe running across her breasts, she doesn’t look so skittish.
She’s adjusted to our presence.
“No breakfast today?” she asks, hand on her hip. “Didn’t anyone tell you guys it’s the most important meal of the day?”
“We’re eating out today.” I nod at the SUV parked outside the house. “There’s a little diner Sophie spotted on the way in. I promised we’d get breakfast there.”
“It smelled amazing. Like cinnamon rolls or something delish,” Sophie says.
Margot laughs, jamming her shades into her hair like it’s old habit. I doubt I’m the first man ruined by that look.
“Jenny’s, right? Best place in town! Not that there’s much competition in Sully Bay, but it’s a cute place with good food. PopPop used to take us there all the time when we were little.”
“Are we ready yet? I’m starving.” Dan yawns impatiently.
“You’re always hungry, little man. Guess I’m screwed in a few more years when the growth spurt hits and you eat twice as much. Come on.” I gesture at the door with my thumb.
The diner’s only a ten-minute drive away, and by the time we’re on the road, all I can smell is Margot’s perfume.
She makes the morning brighter still.
Don’t know whether her smiles are meant to make up for the awkward end to last night when she pushed too far, but I don’t mind them.
I’m a morning person by nature and the kids are at that age where they drag when it’s early.
Having a woman around who can keep up with my energy, that’s a welcome change.
“Table for four?” the waitress asks when she sees us. “Right this way.”
“She’s been working here as long as I’ve been coming.” Margot laughs. “Must be at least twenty years.”
“Wow. Does this place ever change?” Dan asks.
“Nope! That’s the beauty of it.”
The seats are sticky old leather, but the table’s clean and there’s a mini jukebox fixed to the wall.
Dan starts fussing with it the second we sit down, trying to find an Elvis song.
Margot entertains Sophie with stories about the pranks she and her brother used to trade on their summers here.
Mostly harmless kid stuff, even if her older brother sounds like a damn punk.
I’m only half listening as the food arrives, watching as Margot smothers her eggs in hot sauce and takes big, hungry bites.
The girl can eat. And she doesn’t mind her spice, which surprises me.
When she’s done, she blots her mouth daintily with a napkin. Sophie copies her so closely I want to snort and roll my eyes.
The food’s surprisingly tasty for a place that looks like it’s been cooking with the same bacon grease for fifty years. Even Dan wolfs down his pancakes without any complaints.
Being a bottomless pit doesn’t stop him from getting picky sometimes.
I ignore the way he’s drenched them in so much syrup they’re practically see-through.
Across from me, Margot tells Sophie about her best friend.
“…we’ve been besties since we were about your age,” she says. “Hattie was always my partner in crime. Once, we put frogs in all of Ethan’s shoes and he squished one. I don’t think he forgave me for months.”
Sophie groans and pretends to retch.
“Sucks for the frogs,” Dan says.
“It did, yeah. We were no angels,” Margot assures him, and the corners of her eyes crease as she grins.
“But I wasn’t thinking about the frogs. I was just thinking about how I could pull my brother’s tail and rage-bait him into getting grounded.
My granddad had this bodyguard around, Holden, and he was a total bulldog if we stepped out of line. ”
Bodyguard, huh?
“Why’s that? Did old Leo upset that many people?” I ask carefully.
“No, not really. I mean, not that I was ever aware of.” Margot’s smile turns sad.
“Just typical safety stuff, I think. It’s pretty common when you have his money.
Honestly, a lot of people wanted PopPop to have a whole detail of armed guards the older he got, at least for the trips to New York, but he wouldn’t have it. ”
“So, nothing worth guarding at the house?”
Her eyes flash as she realizes what I’m really asking.
She shakes her head.
“Nope. I doubt it. Holden was like a second shadow. He followed PopPop everywhere.”
Damn.
Probably no help in the hidden treasury department, then.
“You should hit him up, if you haven’t yet,” I say. “Couldn’t hurt to ask about the house, just for old times’ sake.”
“I suppose,” she whispers.
With a pleasant weight in my gut, I wave the waitress over for the bill, and she gives me an indulgent smile.
The woman must be in her fifties, wearing the apron like she never takes it off. There’s a warm, motherly glow to her face.
“How was it, honey? Everything good?”
“Never fails, Bekah. Thanks so much,” Margot says. Her voice slips, almost back to a comfortable drawl, like she’s lived here for decades, born and bred in this backwater town.
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” She looks across at Sophie and Dan, and her smile widens. “And I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you have a lovely family now. The big man must’ve been so proud before he passed.”
Oh, shit.
Margot blinks, batting her eyes as raw shock rushes over her face.
“Uh, it’s not like that,” I rumble, hating the edge in my voice.
It’s an innocent mistake. No need to chew the poor woman’s head off when she must deal with finicky customers every day.
Still, I sure as hell don’t need people thinking I’m with Margot Blackthorn.
I know rumors fly faster than the speed of light in small towns.
Like thinking this little group outing is a family breakfast.
That’s a good way to get gossip kicked up online, and then this trip’s truly fucking blown. Maybe eating out was a mistake.
“We’re not together!” Margot’s syrupy laugh comes out thicker than the sugary slickness of Dan’s pancakes, brushing over my rudeness. The waitress’ face relaxes. “We’re all just—” She hesitates, glancing at me before she says, “Friends. Just friends grabbing a bite.”
“Oh, of course. Didn’t mean to assume anything, hon. You disappeared for a while, so I just assumed you—yeah.” The waitress holds up a finger. “Be right back with that bill for you.”
“I’ve got it,” I say firmly when Margot pulls out her purse.
Her eyes meet mine, all sky blue witchfire, and she slides her card across the table.
“It’s fine, Kane. I don’t mind paying when you’ve helped out so much,” she says firmly.
While it’s instinct to push, to pay for this woman like I always do, even if she’s just a friend, I realize it’s pointless.
A cheap breakfast is nothing for a billionaire heiress.
“Fine. Thanks for the food, Margot. Kids?”
Sophie and Dan eagerly rush their thank-yous as we head outside a minute later.
All the way to the car and then to the hardware store, the waitress’ assumption sticks in my brain like a barb.
Never thought I’d be grabbing a meal with the kids and another woman this soon. Not that it’s like that, fuck no, but still—
I’ve never had to worry about anyone assuming they have a different mother.
Shit.
The thought makes my stomach churn.
Especially because Margot would’ve been like sixteen when they were born. Don’t even ask what that would make me.
Another damnably good reason to keep my distance.
If we stroll around this town too much—just like we’re doing now—the local yokels might spool up some really wild stories.
When we pull up and park in front of the little hardware store, Margot’s face lights up.
“You didn’t forget,” she says happily.
“No. Can’t hurt to pick up a few more tools for the house anyway.” I cut the engine and head inside.
It’s barely the size of a gas station, but it still looks like it has everything we need. Any residual tension from the diner fades.
Margot ties her hair up like she means business, and the kids split up, wandering the aisles.
“Stick together, guys,” I call after them. “Don’t leave the store without me.”
“Dad, we know,” Dan calls back, rushing down an aisle with drills and power tools.
I wander alone down another aisle, only halfway paying attention to what I’m looking for as my mind wanders.
Naturally, it goes back to breakfast.
I’m overreacting.
I shouldn’t have gotten so revved up over a random waitress thinking we’re together. It was a natural assumption really.
And it’s my baggage blowing it up into more.
I push my thoughts aside and focus on what I’m supposed to be doing.
I do my best not to think about Margot, all long legs and miles of trouble.
Bad, bad idea.
I’m still brooding like the moody sack of ice I am when I meet her and the kids in the paint section. They’re chattering excitedly as she looks up and taps her fingers against a can on the shelf.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Broad question. Generally, I think a lot.”
She slides me an unimpressed look as Daniel groans and covers his face.
“Smart-ass,” she says. “Do they start teaching Dad jokes at the hospital when your kids are born or does it just come from getting old?”
“Uploaded to my brain the day I signed their birth certificates,” I say. “Like changing a lightbulb.”
She laughs.
“You’re so cringe,” she mutters, chewing her lip as she moves along the aisle. “But I figured I’d get some paint to freshen up the house while we’re here. I’ve already got a power sander.”
That’ll definitely come in handy, considering the walls could use some light touch-up and a fresh coat or two in places.
“Sure. We can probably get a couple rooms done.”
“What color do you think? More beige maybe? Organic style’s pretty in.” She tilts her head adorably as she thinks, sucking at her lip.
“I like pink. The light creamy one,” Sophie says.
Margot nods seriously. “So do I. An accent wall maybe?”