I needed to be a stronger man than this.
“So, Bron… What’s withall the paper—”
I jolted to a stop in the kitchen doorway.
Mim was right. I needed to stop skipping church. Maybe then God would’ve spared me.
Erin was settled at the kitchen island beside Bronte, two glasses of white wine poured in front of them and fresh cupcakes within reach. Matilda sat on the other stool. The tiny tot was too busy scribbling on her sketchpad to notice me. My sister was just as unfazed by my walking into the room, but Erin’s gaze instantly dropped to the knot she twisted in the hem of her T-shirt.
“H-hey…” I said.
“Cal!” Matilda cried, sliding off the stool and racing to me. “We here for bath time!” She latched onto my leg for a hug.
“Oh,areyou?” I gave her a serious look. “I don’t see your goggles.”
“Mummy say no goggles for walking.”
“She’s probably right, you know.” Swallowing heavily, I darted a look at the woman who’d just starred in one of my dirtiest fantasies.
Erin stared back at me.
No.
Not my face.
My…shirt?
I glanced down. I hadn’t toweled off properly, and Erin’s eyes were locked on the patches of white cotton clinging to my damp skin. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips before she pressed them together. God, why did she have to dothat? I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked away.
This was a bloody disaster. So much for staying strong.
“Uh, guys?” Bronte’s face scrunched up with confusion. “Are you two fighting?”
“N-nah.” I cleared my throat. “No way.”
Erin let out a nervous laugh. “We don’t argue.”
True. We didn’t. Usually, we talked things through, but we’d both avoided mentioning what happened by the forest. And there was no way in hell I was admitting to Erin what I’d been fantasizing about before she’d landed in my kitchen.
Bronte’s eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. We weren’t fooling her. The tension in the room had been dialed up toawkward.
I forced a smile that was even less convincing. “So.” I leaned my shoulder against the fridge. This was far enough away that Erin wouldn’t see how hard it was for me to breathe. “What’s going on, Bron? What’s with all the paper?”
Bronte grinned. “I think I’vefinallysettled on the job description.” She lifted an overstuffed red binder. “I’ve even started preparing an induction manual!”
Erin’s eyes darted between us as she lifted Matilda back on the stool. “What’s all this for?”
“Callansaid we have to hire an accommodation manager to run the cottages,” Bronte explained. “Apparently,I can’t do it anymore.”
I sighed. “Bron, you agreed with me on this. You’re about to start a huge renovation and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, swatting a dismissive hand at me. “And my bed and breakfast will have too many guests, and it’ll be too much to handle on top of the farm shop and the accommodation. You’ve said all that already.”
A smile peeked over the top of Erin’s wine glass. “The man raises some fair points, you know.”
“Of course you’d take Cal’s side.” Bronte rolled her eyes. “You two…”
“Hey!” Erin said. “I’ve been sticking up for you! Why do you think Mim finally gave you her blessing about buying the sheep station? I took Til down there and bamboozled her with an afternoon of pure toddler magic to talk her out of disinheriting you.”
