Page 51 of Playing With Forever

“Told you Mamalious made the best buttermilk pancakes.”

“Don’t remind me she used the stinky milk,” Lindy pleaded.

To say she wasn’t a fan of the smell of buttermilk would be an understatement. She was all fired up to help me cook until I opened the buttermilk. She quickly vacated the kitchen and went into the living room to talk to her dad and Kane.

“Mom told me you’re an artist.”

Lindy’s gaze sliced to mine, as if I’d told her deepest, darkest secret to TMZ and it would be aired for all the world to see.

“Yeah, I um…paint,” she very shyly told Kane.

“Lindy, sweetheart, you don’t just paint; you’re an artist,” I gently told her. “And not just an artist, you’re a talented artist.”

Pink bloomed on her cheeks, and suddenly I understood why Evan said he liked to see me blush. If I looked a fraction of how beautiful Lindy looked with color illuminating her face, I could see why.

“Mamalious is right, if you put paint to canvas or paper or whatever, you’re an artist. Own it, sister.”

Okay, there was a lot going on around the table. First, Kane hadn’t once said “my mom”; he was simply saying “mom” without the possessive “my.” That was sweet. I didn’t know if the “sister” was a throwaway endearment like people use or if that was his way of welcoming her to the family. He called Carrie “sister.” The other thing that was going on was Lindy was her normal shy self, but until the artist comment, she’d blossomed under Kane’s attention. And last, Evan had not missed any of this, and I could feel something rolling off him in waves. Happiness. Gratitude. Contentment. I couldn’t identify the exact feeling, just that it felt good.

“I wish DJ was here,” I murmured.

Evan’s hand on my thigh squeezed.

“Well, then it’s good he and Carrie are coming down tomorrow.”

“That’s…”

The funeral.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kane’s eyes zeroed in on his mother with laser precision.

“That’s… what, Mamalious?” Kane asked his mom.

Fuck, but I loved that he called Josie Mamalious.

“Great.” Josie might’ve been trying for an upbeat, chirpy tone, but she failed miserably, and she knew it when Kane narrowed his eyes at her.

“Okay, I was joking. DJ hasn’t confirmed, him and Carrie can get out of their plans. But I know that voice. Spill.”

Josie fidgeting in her seat was the first clue she was nervous and hiding something. Her worrying her bottom lip was the second clue, and I didn’t need a third when she announced, “Sam Havarth’s funeral is tomorrow.”

She wasn’t just hiding something; she was hiding something fucking huge that she knew would make my head explode.

My hand on Josie’s thigh involuntarily spasmed, becoming a death grip before I remembered his strength and loosened my grip but not my hold.

“No fucking way,” Kane snapped, then glanced at Lindy. “Sorry for the language.”

“Don’t mind me.” Lindy shrugged, her eyes ping-ponging from person to person.

“Evan?” Kane prompted.

“Your mom and I have a deal,” I told him. “I don’t tell her what she can or cannot do. Though I’ve made my thoughts clear on this topic, or at least I thought I did.”

“You don’t tell her what she can do and what she can’t,” Kane semi-repeated.

Kane’s interest in me became judicious—it didn’t take being a cop with as many years as I had on the job to know I was skating in dangerous territory. One wrong stroke of my blade and Deputy Lark would pounce.