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“Yes,” I say tentatively because somehow I feel like he wants me to say no.
“I didn’t order any coffee.” He slams the door in my face and I stumble back, a little stunned. He just acted as if I offended him. Excuse me, but is someone kindly bringing him coffee to his bedroom a crime? It’s not even rude. It’s nice.
The door on the other side of the hallway swings open, followed by a breathy laugh.
Three
“There you are,” Bree whines, standing in the frame and somehow looking even more like an editorial model than she did downstairs. “Took you long enough.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I obviously knocked on the wrong door, waking up the wrong twin. So the rude man from the pool is Ethan. And Cooper is? The man from the beach steps into the doorway, his dark eyes widening with playful recognition.
He stands next to Bree, dropping a kiss against her temple before addressing me with a dark chuckle. “So you’re the new maid, huh?” He murmurs his words against Bree’s skin while still staring at me, his hand coming to rest on her stomach, and I don’t know what to make of the lusty expression on his face. Is it for me or for her? Both of us?
“Housekeeper is the correct term, actually.”
“Yeah,” Bree adds. “She’s the housekeeper.” She says it like it’s a derogatory word.
He chuckles but I can’t tell if he actually finds any of this humorous. “I guess it’s only fitting that Malory and Conrad would hire someone like you to live here during the last full summer Ethan and I get to spend on the island. They’re so predictable.”
And I also don’t know what to make of anything he just said except that Malory and Conrad are his parents and it seems like such a rich person thing to do to call your parents by their first names like that. Then again, what would I know about money or parents?
“You think me being here is predictable?” I force out the question despite the stress. All I want to do is to apologize for knocking on the wrong door and bolt out of here.
Cooper raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but think he’s just as attractive as his twin brother even though they’re not identical. But they’re most definitely brothers, and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this summer without being beet-red at all times, either from the sun or from these guys.
“You looking the way you do? Yeah, I sure do,” he draws out his answer that doesn’t really answer much of anything. What I should have asked is why he thinks it’s predictable that I’m here. His inquisitive eyes search mine, as if waiting for me to say something more. Was he giving my looks a compliment or a criticism? Or maybe it’s my young age that he’s talking about?
“Thanks, Ardie.” Bree snatches the coffee cups from my hands.
“It’s Arden––”
For the second time in less than a minute, a door slams in my face.
Welcome to Nantucket.
I head back downstairs and return to mopping. Mind reeling at what I just experienced, I’m unable to keep my mouth shut. “Are the twins always so…” I don’t finish the question because I don’t want to overstep my bounds here, but seriously, what the hell was that?
Camilla frowns down at her cutting board. She’s slicing an onion into tiny cubes like a pro. The woman is barely even teary-eyed because she’s slicing so damn fast. “They’re good boys when they want to be.” Her Italian accent is still thick enough that I’m sure she grew up there despite her decades of living in Nantucket as an adult. I wonder what her story is? “But I’m warning you now,” she continues, “when the brothers want to be bad, there’s no stopping them.”
“Bond villains, huh?” I tease.
Her eyes snap to mine. “I’m being serious. Don’t push their buttons.”
It just about kills me not to snort at that asinine comment.
“Since when do bad boys spend their summers on Nantucket?” As far as I’m concerned, they’re not bad boys, they’re just ungrateful douchebags with too much access to daddy’s money.
Honestly, I’d laugh about this whole thing if I wasn’t so pissed off by my interaction with the twins upstairs. There’s no good explanation for slamming their doors in my face––even if Bree was the one to do it for Cooper. I can’t very well tell them off without jeopardizing my job, so I channel my frustration into the mop instead.
Mopping is good.
Mopping is rhythmic and easy and predictable and doesn’t treat you like shit.
“Just be careful,” Camilla adds right before I leave the kitchen. The chopping of her knife stops and I find her eyes are on me again––older eyes, experienced eyes, protective eyes that won’t turn on their employer but will warn a young woman. “The twins are no good for a sweet girl like you. Especially not Ethan.”
And then she’s back to chopping. Why single out Ethan when Cooper is the one who apparently has a revolving door of women?
“Thank you.” I mean it, too. I’m not used to having people look out for me, so when they do, I always appreciate it. I also take it with a grain of salt and a heaping dose of trust issues, but that might just be a me problem.
