Chapter Twenty
He slipped from her room in the early hours of the morning.
With a kiss to her brow, Sinjin tucked the blankets in around her, the scent of him lingering long after he’d gone. Lying awake in the still, heavy darkness, Breanna held his pillow to her chest. She should go back to sleep. Lord knows, after last night, she could use it.
Her well-used body thrumming in all the right places, Breanna’s mind would not rest. Alone, pesky thoughts crept in to niggle at her brain. She tried to make sense of them, but she couldn’t. It seemed as if everything she’d once surmised wasn’t true at all.
An average middle-class upbringing, she saved up birthday and babysitting money and worked a part-time job for the down payment on her car. She studied hard to earn a scholarship so she could go to college, not knowing she had a gazillion dollars at her disposal.
But Mom knew all along, didn’t she?
If her mother and grandmother managed the money her father left for her, they had to have kept in touch with each other, which explained her photograph in Valerie’s room. Taken the summer before last on Venice Beach, Breanna had a strawberry ice cream cone in her hand. She made a dripping mess of that cone. A scorching hot day, the ice cream melted faster than she could eat it.
That Breanna never got to meet her grandmother no longer made any sense, but then keeping memories of her dad from her didn’t either.
Why, Mom?
And what else was Sarah Benjamin keeping from her?
Breanna started thinking about all the things she could’ve had, but didn’t. Time. Painting flowers with her grandmother, building a snowman with her grandfather—how old had she been when he died? Maybe Francie would’ve taught her how to make something other than a bowl of cheap ramen noodles.
She could’ve known Sinjin, Derek, and all the St. Johns long before now. And that was weird to think of.
She could’ve known her family. And her dad through them.
She could’ve made her own memories in this house, on this mountain.
But her mom kept her away. Did she even know Valerie was dead? Or did she keep that from her, too?
And Sinjin? He wasn’t telling her everything, either. Breanna felt it in her gut.
“Your gut won’t lie.”
Yeah, and hers was screaming.
Sinjin didn’t come right out and say it, but then he didn’t have to. She wasn’t stupid. Despite her lack of fluency in legalese, it was quite clear. Derek was trying to get her to sign her family’s legacy away. Don’t attorneys take an oath or something? Because the falsification of documents was downright criminal.
There was a lot more going on here than she knew. Of that, Breanna was sure.
Secrets and lies.
The past could never be changed, but knowledge is power, right? As long as she was stuck here, she’d unearth every last one. And she knew exactly where to start.
Knowing sleep was futile, Breanna pushed the covers off and got out of bed. Still naked, she went over to the window, peering out into the predawn darkness. Beyond the mountain peaks, a moonless sky was just beginning to lighten, and the snow hadn’t yet begun to fall.
She switched on the lights to the ensuite, the sudden brightness jarring. Standing before the full-length mirror, Breanna studied her reflection. She wasn’t the girl she was before she came here. She didn’t feel like the same girl either. It wasn’t her swollen lips or her just-fucked hair that made her see herself differently.
Sinjin had irrefutably altered her perception of herself. In a good way. The best way. Unlike the rest of the world, he expected nothing of her, except to be her true self. And that was fucking life-changing.
After a long, luxurious shower and a fresh blowout, Breanna sat at the vanity crisscross applesauce, putting on her makeup. The bruising faded, the swelling above her eye was gone. She could conceal what remained easily, so at least she wouldn’t resemble a hideous Gila monster.
With another storm coming today, she had no intentions of leaving this house. Not like I could, anyway. She snickered to herself. Her only plan was to go back up to the third floor and poke around a bit. Fill her belly with more of Francie’s fancy food. Maybe later she’d curl up with a good book and watch the snow fall with Sinjin.
Thanks to Kayleigh and her Pinterest-worthy packing skills, she dressed herself in a loose, soft, surplice-wrap sweater, her favorite ripped-up jeans, and a cute pair of knit ankle booties. And by the time she made her way downstairs, the dark morning sky had turned into a shade of deep and dismal gray.
His cheeks reddened, wearing jeans and plaid flannel, Sinjin sat warming his hands on a mug of hot coffee when she came into the kitchen. Breanna couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him looking like that.
Then, glancing up, he smiled back. “Good morning, princess. Thought you’d sleep ’til noon, considering I kept you up half the night.”
“I think you’ve got that backward,” she quipped, walking over to the coffeemaker. After turning it on to brew, Breanna turned around with a smirk. “It’s me who kept up you.”
“Get over here.” His arm hooked around her waist, and pulling her to his chest, he kissed her.
Good morning, indeed.
With the familiar feeling of worn flannel beneath her fingertips, she stepped out of his hold and went to get her coffee. “Where’s Francie?”
“Haven’t seen her,” Sinjin answered, sticking his head in the refrigerator. He passed her a carton of cream. “I’ve been out in the garage making sure everything’s good to go.”
She stirred her coffee, tipping her head to the side.
“There’s going to be a lot of snow to move later on,” he said with a kiss to her nose. “Comes with living here.”
“Oh.” She nodded. Not that Breanna had any experience with that. It rarely snowed in Portland, and they never got any in LA.
“Why don’t we do Francie a solid and get breakfast started?”
“I can make oatmeal.” She grimaced at the thought.
With a stroke of his beard, Sinjin raised his brow.
“Look, I’m not much of a cook.”
He opened the fridge, grabbing a pound of bacon and a carton of eggs. “I’m feeling like waffles this morning. How about you?”
“The ones you pop in the toaster?”
He chuckled. Reaching into a cabinet, Sinjin grinned and set a waffle iron down on the counter, then turned around to fry the bacon.
Breanna just stood there, shaking her head. “Sinjin…I…”
“Scrambled okay with you?”
…can’t.
She pulled up Google on her phone. How to make waffles.
“Yeah, sure,” she agreed, getting milk and butter from the fridge. “Give me two of those eggs, will you? And where do I find flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt? Hell, I’m going to need a bowl, too.”
“Pantry.” Smirking, he tipped his chin. “You need to learn your way around your own kitchen.”
“It’s not mine,” Breanna insisted. “It’s Francie’s.”
Sinjin turned away from the stove. Glancing down at her, his eyebrows pulled together, and he folded his arms across his flannel-clad chest.
“Is that what this is about?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “And maybe I just want you to make me waffles.”
Ted wasn’t kidding. There had to be more food on the shelves in this kitchen within a kitchen that Sinjin called a pantry, than Hank had in his entire store. Good grief. Luckily, Francie had everything neatly organized, and after finding the items she needed, Breanna carried them out to the island.
She opened up the recipe on her phone and blew out a breath. Whistling as he fried the bacon, Sinjin didn’t so much as glance her way. Here goes nothing. Breanna mixed the dry ingredients before adding in the milk. Cracking an egg on the edge of the bowl, a chunk of shell fell in along with the slobbery mess, and she muttered, “Shit.”
“Potty mouth.” He snickered.
“Shush you.” Breanna giggled too. “Unless you’d rather wear your waffles instead of eating them.”
Sinjin came up behind her. Kneading her shoulders while she picked out the shell and stirred the batter, he kissed the skin beneath her ear. “See, princess? You’ve got this, so don’t ever let me hear you say you’re not much of anything.” He swatted her bottom. “And I’d much rather be eating you.”
As Breanna poured the last of the batter onto the hot iron, Sinjin set platters of eggs and bacon down on the polished stone, and Ted, Francie coming along right behind him, joined them in the kitchen. “You made breakfast? Is it my birthday or something?”
“Good morning, Auntie,” he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Think we need a special occasion to spoil you a little?”
“Well, I can’t remember the last time anybody cooked for me.” Francie looked at her husband. “And this looks delicious.”
“Shall we bring this to the morning room or eat right here?”
“Let’s stay here,” she said, settling into a seat. “As long as we’re going to be cooped up in here for a while, I figured I’d start decorating for Christmas today. I wasn’t going to bother this year, but I thought about it, and Valerie would’ve wanted me to, especially being Breanna’s here.”
“Yeah, she’d have had the house all decked out already.” Sinjin’s gaze seemed to travel somewhere in the past. He smiled, but there was a touch of sadness to it. “I’ll bring everything up after breakfast.”
“Your grandmother sure loved decorating for the holidays,” Francie said, clasping onto her hand. “You can help me if you’d like.”
“I would.” Smiling, Breanna nodded.
Smiling back, Francie cut into her waffles. “Oh, dear, these are wonderful.”
And smirking, Sinjin winked.
Thank you, Arien Brooks—whoever you are.
“Found a recipe on a blog is all.” Breanna shrugged like it was no big deal. “It said using warmed milk and melted butter in the batter makes all the difference.”
“Mm, I’ll have to remember that,” she said, devouring another forkful.
“After you finish helping your aunt, I could use some out in the garage.” Licking the syrup from his thumb, Ted looked over at his nephew. “Have to get the blowers gassed up and ready for the storm.”
“Already done, old man.” Sinjin grinned. “Got the power shovels charging, too.”
“Well, dang it.” Reaching across the island, Ted speared another waffle onto his plate. “Nothing for me to do now ’til it’s time to move some snow.”
“I’ve got something you can do, Mr. Keeler.” Francie elbowed her husband in the ribs.
“Oh, yeah?” He waggled his eyebrows. “And what’s that, Mrs. Keeler?”
“Help me clean this kitchen.”
Sinjin held her hand, taking her down the stairs to the walkout basement. Cut into the slope of the mountain, Breanna looked through a wall of glass to a patio, covered by the first-floor deck above, and the panoramic view beyond it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is.” But the word didn’t accurately describe it. “Have you always lived here?”
“Pretty much. Between here and Sacramento.” His arm around her shoulders, he led her down the hall. “My mom grew up in the village.”
“Francie did too, then.”
Nodding, he opened a door. “Their father—my grandfather—was also an attorney.”
“For the Daltons?”
“Of course.” Snickering, Sinjin began pulling red plastic totes down from a shelf. “Your family and mine go way back.”
So I’ve heard.
“What’s down here?”
“Didn’t my cousin give you the grand tour?” With a roll of his eyes, he waved his hands around the large room filled with row upon row of metal shelving. “Storage mostly.”
“There has to be more here than that. This space is massive.”
“We don’t use these rooms often during the colder months. Except for the gym. I work out a lot.” Returning to his task, he shrugged. “There’s a wine cellar, an old bowling alley that no one’s used in decades…”
“How come?” Breanna asked, looking up at him.
“I don’t know.” Sinjin smiled at her, dropping another tote down to the floor. “The pinsetter is broken, I think.”
“We should get it fixed.” Holding onto him, she bounced on the balls of her feet. “I love bowling.”
“Know what I love?” His arms came around her waist, and he pulled her to his chest.
“What?”
Is it me?
Whiskey eyes searing into hers, Sinjin held her face in his hands and kissed her.
Maybe it is.
His cell phone began vibrating in his pocket, but he ignored it and kept right on kissing her. Lips nuzzled into her neck, and Breanna melted in his arms. Safe. Secure. Wanted.
The vibrating stopped only to begin again.
Annoyed, Sinjin looked at his phone. “What the fuck does he want?”
“Who?”
“Derek. I should answer it. He won’t stop calling until I do.” He handed her one of the lighter totes. “Here, take this to Francie. I’ll be up with the rest in a minute.”
“Okay.”
Out of his line of sight, Breanna paused outside the door, listening to the hubris in his voice.
“It’s not happening, motherfucker.”
And she smiled to herself, making her way back down the hall.