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“I might,” Bane says, dipping his chin and putting the car into park in front of my garage. “That bother you?”
His question catches me off-guard. As if I have any reason to have an opinion on his house—his parents’ house. “I mean, it’s your house. You can do whatever you want to do, including not having it anymore.”
Bane grins, and the sight sends a flutter in my lower stomach. I feel like I passed some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking. “And what about your house, sugar?” He jerks his chin toward the front door of Magnolia Lane.
“What about my house?”
“How do you feel about having us there with you? I’m not offering to leave, but Nova and Silas can?—”
Nova leans forward, across me, and shoves Bane’s shoulder. Bane just grunts with a low chuckle.
“It’s fine. It’s too big for just one person anyway.” I wave my hand in the air, toward the house in question.
I’m not sure how Nana Jo survived living alone all those years. I imagine I’d get lonely. Though I guess I did come stay with her every summer for nearly all of my childhood. But it’s been years and years since I was able to do that. Mostly, I would pop over for a visit, maybe stay for a week or two if I had time off of work.
Besides, it’s not like the five of us weren’t all living together in Silas and Nova’s house this past month. This isn’t really any different.
And okay, so there isn't a sauna or a secret tunnel, and generally, it’s an entirely different layout. But otherwise, it’s virtually the same thing.
Though now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some secrets in Magnolia Lane I haven’t discovered yet. I haven’t forgotten Nana Jo’s mysterious book of town gossip and secrets. For all I know, she buried gold in her backyard and I’ll find the treasure map hidden in a loose brick in the foundation or something. I don’t think she did hide her money in her yard, but she was quirky enough to color outside the box. And I vaguely remember her telling me stories of her parents hiding their money in random places around their house. So I guess anything is possible.
I push open the rear passenger door, and welcome the sunshine on my face. Nana Jo used to tell me that there was nothing in this world a day spent in the sunshine couldn’t fix. And I don’t know if it’s going to actually fix anything, but feeling the soft caress of warmth does help. Like the very universe is comforting me.
I exhale and skip toward the front door. I know I should get myself cleaned up, and I desperately want to, but I'm too anxious to see Hunter. Both Bane and Nova assured me he and Dixie are both okay, but it’s almost like I can’t relax until I see him with my own eyes.
I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the sunlight as I peer into the SUV parked behind ours, but it’s empty. Silas must’ve gone inside when I was daydreaming about hidden treasure in the backyard.
“Hunter?” I call the moment I open my front door. I hear soft rustling and the sharp sounds of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. My heart leaps into my throat and I rush toward the sound, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
I stop at the threshold of the kitchen, momentarily speechless. It’s not Hunter in my kitchen, but Silas. He’s looking inside my refrigerator while tying a half-apron around his waist. It was one of Nana Jo’s favorites, pale peach with white lace scalloped along the edges.
My breath catches in my throat at the unexpected sight. There are so many unexpected things, I think my brain kind of short-circuits for a moment. The way the refrigerator light seems to bathe him in golden hour light. His broad back takes up so much space in this room. How he makes Nana Jo’s apron work for him. The fact that he beelined to the kitchen at all, really.
“What are you doing?” The question leaves me on a breathless exhale.
He doesn’t answer me right away as he grabs some bell peppers from the crisper, walks around the island, and starts dicing them on the black cutting board. “You need to eat for this conversation.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like of course he’s in here cooking for me because I need to eat. I feel like I woke up in an alternate reality.
“Oh. Okay, thanks.” I shift my weight to my other foot and glance at the spread of food around him. “Where’s Hunter? I don’t want him to see me like this.” I half-heartedly gesture to the expanse of my body.
If I wasn’t already looking, I would've missed it. The pause in his chopping motion. “I don’t think he should hear the details, do you?”
My face flushes with embarrassment. “Right, of course. Yeah, I don’t want to scare him.'' I step inside the kitchen, propping my forearms on the island. I don’t know what I expected but I certainly didn’t expect to feel like I’m the interloper inside my own house. “I should probably get cleaned up before I see him anyway.” I rap my knuckles on the countertop and push off of it.
He makes this noise that’s somewhere between a grunt and clearing his throat. He doesn’t look at me as he tosses a pat of butter in a pan on the stove. “Eat, debrief, then you can clean up.”
I tilt my head to the side and watch the way his forearms flex as he finishes chopping up all the veggies he got from the refrigerator. “You like this look on me, hm? What should I call it: disheveled duchess?” I offer his back a ridiculous half-hearted curtsey.
He looks over his shoulder at me, his forearms flexing as he rotates the pan so the butter melts evenly over the bottom. God, what is my fascination with his forearms?.
“I much prefer those little sleep shorts you wear at night.” The smallest smirk curls up the corner of his mouth, showing just a whisper of his sense of humor.
My own smile stretches across my face. “Did you just make a joke?”
His smile grows, his dark eyes locking on mine. And for a single moment, I forget all the confusing back and forth between us. He’s slow to pull his gaze from mine as he returns his focus to the stove once more.
“What are you making?” I don't even know if I’m that hungry, but I'm curious enough to see this through.
