Page 29 of Slow Burn

There’s nothing left from dinner, but I have some peaches in the fridge. They were Lyla’s favourite. I remember her and Austin returning from their family summer holiday in the Okanagan, the truck sagging a little lower on its way back from the amount of peaches they’d bring home. Lyla would eat them all, juice dripping down her chin and hands, a huge smile on her face.

These might not be Okanagan peaches, but I peel them and slice them all the same, and put them in a bag along with the coconut whipped cream I picked up at the store the other day. I thought she might like it if she came over for pancakes again. Then, I make the walk across the yard to the guest house.

My heart stutters as I reach my hand up to knock on the wooden door to the bungalow. I hesitate, nerves fluttering around in my gut. The teenage boy inside me is still nervous to be near her, and yet eager to have any time alone together.

I rap my knuckles three times.

Footsteps get louder as they near the door.

It swings open, and she’s standing in front of me, all soft curves and smooth lines, hair tucked back into a clip, tendrils framing her heart shaped face. She’s not wearing makeup, but her cheeks have a natural flush to them, eyelashes brushing them as she blinks at me. Her plush lips open and close a few times before she speaks.

“Beck…” Lyla says, and god the way she says my name tonight makes me fucking weak in the knees. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I know, I think. I can tell based on the set of satin pyjamas that drape loosely over her curves. The lace edge of her tank top rises and falls with the shape of her full breasts.

I hold up the bag in my hand. “I brought you some dessert.”

She takes it when I hand it to her, her eyes going wide with delight when she looks inside and sees the peaches. It makes my heart clench, seeing her happy like that. I haven’t seen her happy–truly happy–since before she showed up here. Maybe even longer. Since before the accident maybe. It’s like her light was dimmed, and every once in a while, it shines through the cracks, reminding me that her fire is still there.

Hearing her talk about herself today, I wonder if she’s the one that tries to snuff it out.

“Thank you,” she says. “These are my favourite.”

I nod in recognition of that fact, a subtle confirmation that I remember. My gaze flicks over her shoulder and into the kitchen. The traditional style wooden pedestal table is now covered in loose papers, and legal boxes are spread around on the floor beside it. Legal boxes that look familiar because they sat in an untouched and haphazard stack in the corner of Dad’s office.

I tip my chin toward them. “Doing some light reading?”

An exasperated sigh pushes out of Lyla’s lips, and her shoulders drop. “I’m trying to go through them and organize some of them but…”

“You’re fighting a losing battle?”

Lyla chews on the inside of her bottom lip and nods. “I wanted to try and get a handle on the books, see if I could find some funds for the fences for you, but it’s a mess.”

“Trust me, I know, I’ve spent many nights trying to figure out my dad’s ‘system’ as he liked to call it.”

Lyla chuckles and gestures toward the table, opening the front door a little wider. I spot Lyla’s tiny dog, if you can call it that, standing behind her. His head is tilted, tongue hanging out the side of his small muzzle.

“Care to join me? I could use your expertise.”

I scoff as if to say what expertise? But something stops me from answering right away. Lyla and I have crossed some barriers–in good ways, but also in dangerous ones. Those books? They’re nothing but a reminder that Lyla is my employee. I hold myself to a high–some might say too high–standard with my employees. It’s why I didn’t engage in the conversation about how hot Lyla was in her yoga attire the other day, despite everything in me wanting to agree.

I need to be on my best behaviour around my staff.

Especially staff who are also my best friend’s little sister.

Lyla, almost as if she senses me faltering, says “Honestly, it would be nice to have some company.”

That’s all it takes. My resolve shatters, so I follow her into the house.

Chapter 13

Lyla

I put the peaches and the coconut whipped cream in the fridge for later, and turn to find Beck already seated at the kitchen table, flicking through the papers I’ve spread out and organized into piles.

Invoices for cattle sales and other income have gone into one pile, receipts for expenses in the other. That pile is a lot bigger. I had started writing down amounts on a separate piece of paper, cataloging transactions to get a better picture of where money is going.

Beck’s brow is furrowed as he takes it all in, the proof of his fathers mismanagement over the years laid out in front of him. He’s so focussed he barely notices Critter stretching up on his hind legs, asking to be picked up. I scoop him into my arms before folding myself into the kitchen chair, tucking one leg up underneath me.