2 Leo Madeline—Sons of Habit
Leo
Madeline—Sons of Habit
Though I’ve always prided myself on being a calm, diplomatic person, there are days I’d quite happily murder the two knuckleheads I live with. There’s only so much walking on eggshells a man can take.
I doubt anyone would even realise. I could drop their bodies in Hawkthorpe’s four-mile-long natural lake. Besides, who could blame me? Everyone in town knows exactly what Sterling and our newest roommate, Fletcher, are like.
Unfortunately for me, Sterling is my adoptive brother. I’m pretty sure his ma would have something to say about me killing her only biological son. Especially since she saved me from a life in foster care when I was barely a teenager.
“Hey! Leo!”
Head jerking to the side, I spot Maverick’s hulking form smoking outside the hotel.
The Lakeside Tavern is a quintessential British pub—cosily cramped with low, beamed ceilings, patterned booth seating, and well stocked with all manner of local beers, shit wine, and fruity gin the town’s female population go wild for.
It won’t win any gastronomy awards, but Maverick keeps the patrons returning each summer season with his killer steak-and-ale pies. He’s worked there since we finished school together at eighteen.
“Morning,” I call back.
“This is early for you,” he jokes around a plume of smoke. “Was your bed on fire?”
Eyes rolling, I ditch my toolbox on a moss-covered picnic bench. “Didn’t sleep. The insomniac spent all night ripping out the cottage’s old kitchen cabinets.”
Maverick raises a dark eyebrow. “He’s still remodelling?”
“I reckon he’ll tear the whole place down before much longer.”
He drops his cigarette, then crushes it beneath his scuffed shoe. “You invited him to live with you. I have no sympathy.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“What does Sterling make of it?”
“The pair are at each other’s throats.”
“And you thought this plan would actually work?” he deadpans.
“Admittedly, not my best idea, but Fletcher needed somewhere to recover. I thought his presence might help. Sterling needs his best friend back.”
“Then you have no one to blame but yourself.” He laughs at me. “Come on, genius. Let me make you breakfast.”
“Will Cassidy make me pay for it?”
Maverick waves me off. “Sterling fixed that leaking sink basin last week. Cash in the favour on his behalf.”
“Free food does always taste better.”
“You’re such a freeloader,” he mutters.
“I prefer entrepreneurial.”
“That’s what all freeloaders say.”
“Who made you the authority on stealing food?”
“So you admit that it’s stealing.” He rolls his eyes at me.
With ten en suite bedrooms above the pub, it boasts a roaring trade in the busy summer months. Us locals prop up the bar during the long, dark winters when there’s little else to do around here but drink in front of a roaring fire and wait the cold out.
Clapping Maverick on his broad shoulder, I let him lead me inside. He’s a few months older than me, but we grew up side by side in Hawkthorpe’s rugged wilderness. Though he still refuses to listen when I tell him to cut his stupid long hair.
We enter through the side staff door, directly into the tavern’s stainless steel kitchen. Cassidy took the liberty to update it once her divorce finalised last year after finally getting rid of the scum trying to claim half the business.
“Expecting many for breakfast?”
“The usual rabble,” he replies.
Maverick pushes up the sleeves of his chef’s jacket, exposing toned forearms near covered in dark, layered ink. We got our sleeves done together a few years back at Thierry’s tattoo parlour in the town over.
I hop up on the counter, folding my cargo-clad legs. “How was your date last night?”
He cracks an egg a little too hard, cursing at the scattered shell.
“Oh.” I grimace at him. “That good?”
“Shut up.”
“Come on, Mav. I thought she was a sure thing.”
“So did I after driving two damn hours. She blew me off.”
I wince, watching him add bacon to the grill. “Shit.”
“Yep. Some shit about not being ready for a relationship. Which is fine, but tell me before I drive two hours for a date that’s not gonna happen. You know?”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“Whatever. I’m deleting that bloody app.”
“I still don’t understand why you downloaded it in the first place.”
His intense eyes flick over to me. “Because unlike you, I’m actually interested in having a meaningful relationship.”
I rest a hand over my chest in mock pain. “That hurts.”
“You’ll get over it.”
Watching him begin to assemble a breakfast burrito, I point towards the ketchup to make sure he adds a generous dollop. He squirts some inside, then cuts and wraps my food.
I gratefully accept the foil package. “You know, I’m not relationship averse.”
“Do you have another reason for your chronic singlehood?” His lip curls in a smirk.
“I’m too busy. Work, life, family. I don’t have time for dating.”
“Give it up, dude. We both know that’s horseshit.”
“Try managing a grieving brother who I promised to look after and a traumatised asshole who lost his voice and now lives with us. Then try and fit a girl into that schedule.”
Arms folded, Maverick leans against the clean stovetop. “Spending your entire life looking after everyone else isn’t a life at all.”
“It’s my life, Mav.” I hop down from the counter with a shrug. “And it could’ve turned out a hell of a lot worse if they didn’t take me in.”
“You can’t keep paying off this invisible debt forever!” he calls after me.
“Yeah, yeah. Go do some work.”
Waving over my shoulder without looking back, I leave the kitchen so I can wish the redhead a good morning. She’ll only have my ass if I don’t. The short stack with flaming-red hair can go from smiling to ball-breaking in mere seconds.
“Cass!” I yell loudly. “I’m eating Sterling’s payment for that sink repair. Don’t bill me.”
My voice carries through the still-empty pub. I round the old mahogany bar decorated with wrapped fairy lights and empty liquor bottles positioned high above on built-in shelves, but soon pull up short in surprise.
“Oh, hi.”
Hanging on the very edge of a fabric bar stool like she’s a second away from bolting is an unfamiliar woman. But fuck if that word doesn’t feel sufficient for this doe-eyed stranger.
Two wide, moss-speckled hazel eyes cut through me like a laser beam. Discomfort riots in the chocolate-green flecks, but she quickly wipes the flash of fear from her expression.
“Sorry,” I add, cringing at my stupidity. “Didn’t think the place was open yet.”
Without a word, the woman grabs a ratty-looking backpack that was resting at her feet, then stands. She’s unsteady, her movements fast and jerky, causing her to stumble.
“Shit! Are you okay?”
Barely getting her legs underneath her, she doesn’t bother responding.
Her clothes are speckled with mud, particularly the hem of her wet jeans.
That threadbare hoodie can’t be keeping her very warm in this weather.
She’s shaking like a leaf caught in a windstorm, despite the discarded towel that she had wrapped around her shoulders.
Her damp, jaw-length bob mimics a flowing ink splodge, though the colour is closer to rich dark chocolate than black. It appears unbrushed and dirty, matching her dishevelled appearance.
I find myself drinking in her average height, slight frame that offers a hint of curves, and perfectly structured, sweetheart-shaped features with a narrow, upturned nose that leads straight to her hazel orbs.
Hell, she’s beautiful.
Not the kind of observation I usually make about a woman—Maverick is right about that much. I might like helping people, but I have little interest in a relationship. Though this trembling, dark-haired beauty would captivate even a blind man.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“It’s f-fine,” she stammers.
“Do you startle easily?” I say awkwardly.
“Something l-like that.”
“Doesn’t help when idiots like me sneak up on you, I guess.” My mouth spreads in a self-deprecating smile. “Anyway, I’m leaving so don’t go on my account.”
“I was leaving anyway,” she replies without looking at me.
“You’re wet and shivering.”
“It’s cold outside.”
“Then warm up before heading back out there,” I suggest faster than I can shackle my concern. “It was below freezing last night. There’s ice everywhere.”
“I know.”
Her voice is strong yet painfully quiet. It’s like she’s deliberately keeping her words minimal. Soft. Borderline inaudible. I find myself longing for her to speak up so I can hear her gentle tenor again but louder.
“You new here?” I ask curiously.
Her long, elegant fingers flex around the backpack’s strap. “Not exactly.”
“Visiting?”
“No.”
While her nails appear manicured, the varnish is chipped and chewed down to the quick. The longer I look, the more apparent it is how unkempt and visibly exhausted she seems despite acting otherwise.
“Are you a friend of Cass’s then?”
Clearing her throat, she glances down at her feet. “No.”
“I don’t blame you. That would be like befriending a grizzly bear mid-hunt.”
My attempt at humour fizzles out, and she still won’t glance my way. I have no idea why that bothers me, but I’m battling the ridiculous, primitive urge to move closer and lift her chin so she’ll meet my gaze.
She’s got the same look on her face that I see on Sterling when he thinks no one is watching. A soul-sucking mask of total loneliness in the deepest depths of his personal demons. Years haven’t healed his wounds.
Not to mention the wild-eyed mess I’ve found Fletcher in when his insomnia finally gives out. He’s usually sitting bolt upright with sweaty sheets tangled around him when I burst in, only to be silently glowered at.
“I’m Leo,” I say to fill the silence.
“Um . . . Eden.”
“Hi, Eden.”
“Hello.”
Her name rolls across my tongue like sweet molasses. I like the way it sounds. Sharp. Determined. Powerful. Christ’s sake, Leo. Listen to yourself. This really isn’t like me.
“You know, I work down at the tourist centre by the lake. Headed there now to fix a couple pipes. Just in case you need a tour or something.”
“Do you do many of those in the winter?” Eden blurts.
Laughter bursts out of me. So she can speak.
“Honestly? None.”
She hugs her backpack tighter. “Then why offer?”
I drag my fingers over my stubbled chin. “Uh.”
Yeah, I’m not going to be able to claw my way out of this. Precisely why I need to learn how to think before I speak.
“You got me. I’m terrible at awkward silences. I’ve been told I could make conversation with a brick wall a few times.”
This time, a smile does break free across her mouth, betraying a hint of unexpected courage.
“That is a talent.”
“I like to think so,” I reply with a smile.
Eden’s still squeezing that backpack like it’s a parachute and she’s flying at thirty thousand feet, her slim frame being racked by successive earthquakes. Yet she plasters on a brave face. It’s a perplexing contradiction that intrigues me far too much.
“So, what brings you to town?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head, disturbing her short bob. “I’m not staying.”
“Heading anywhere nice?”
“As far away as possible,” she answers quietly.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
Those bottomless pits dart up to assess me. Her eyelashes are thick and curling, casting shadows over her freckled, slightly hollowed cheeks. Add a decent meal to the list of things she looks in need of.
“You travel far?” I keep digging.
“Far enough,” Eden volunteers.
“Sure, we’re pretty much in the middle of nowhere out here.”
“Seems so.” A tooth digs into her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to get out of town.”
“Uh, there’s one bus running every few hours or so . . .”
My words trail off. That flicker of fear in her eyes was real—no matter how quickly she tried to hide it. I have a sixth sense for these things, and my protective instincts are already beginning to smoulder inside me.
“Or I can give you a ride if you want.”
Her lips part on a sudden breath, and for a second, I think she’s going to accept.
“Coffee has arrived!” Cassidy’s sing-song voice interrupts. “Morning, Leo.”
“Hey, Cass.” I cut the redhead a look.
She cocks an eyebrow in my direction. “What are you doing here?”
“Eating your food.”
“This is a business. Not a charity.”
Spreading my hands in surrender, I take a couple of steps back. “Cashing in Sterling’s favour, not mooching off your kitchen. Please don’t bite me.”
“You’re not my type, scrounging asshole.”
“Well, thank the lord for that.”
Shaking her head at me, Cassidy carries two large, glass latte cups over to the bar, where Eden is still lingering uncertainly. She focuses her attention on our newcomer.
“Going so soon?”
“Um.” Eden visibly panics, her facial muscles twitching. “I need to go.”
“You should sit and drink this before you catch hypothermia or worse,” Cassidy corrects in a stern tone. “Butt on chair, please.”
I have to smother a laugh before either woman hears it. The town’s bar lady may have a fearsome reputation, but her steely exterior conceals a heart of pure gold forged from a miserable marriage.
Her eyes shifting back to the door, Eden seems to contemplate fleeing, but her decision is sealed when she wavers on her feet again. Before I can lunge to steady her, she slides back onto her bar stool.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
Cassidy nods, pushing a sugar bowl towards her. “Drink up.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“It’s a coffee, Eden. Just drink.”
“Can I get a freebie too?” I raise a hand.
Cassidy glowers at me. “You’ve already stolen from me once today. Go mooch off someone else.”
“Damn. Harsh terms, lady.”
Eden stirs one sugar sachet into her coffee, then takes a gulp, her eyes closing in obvious joy. My eyebrows twitch upwards. I’ve never seen someone savour a simple cup of coffee so much. It’s kinda fascinating to watch.
Cassidy seems to have the exact same thought as her gaze darts up to mine. “Go tell Maverick to fire up the grill.”
“It’s already warm.” I wink at her. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“You know I don’t owe Sterling a favour, right? You owe me.”
“Just checking you’re not poisoning the locals, Cass. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks for your service,” she drawls. “Go see the chef. She needs food.”
“I was gonna give her a ride out of town.”
“The only ride you’ll be taking is a short trip into my fist. So go on. Scram.”
Sparing the stranger one last look, I retreat into the kitchen. Maverick’s head lifts when I reenter, disregarding the lump of pastry dough he’s rolling out.
“You again.”
“Love you, too, Mav. The boss needs you to fire some more burritos. She’s taken in some frozen woman.”
“A woman?” His brows knit together. “Who?”
“Not a clue.”
“What do you mean ‘frozen’?”
“I mean she’s blue and shaking like a leaf. Make hers extra large. Looks like she needs it.”
With a chuff, he turns his back to face the grill once more.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he titters.
I drag a hand down my face, battling to hold back a sigh. “I need to get to work.”
“Sure you don’t wanna hang out with this . . . frozen woman? Make her your problem too?”
At his saccharine tone, I flip him the bird. “Enough of the psychoanalysing.”
Maverick points at me with a spatula.
“You should take your own advice once in a while.”