Page 46 of Ice Queen

A gasp falls from his sister, who has moved to his side. “But that's–”

“No, Cecy.”

I’m uncomfortable in this situation now, and I don’t like being talked about like I’m not here. Hannah’s still at my side, but no longer hugging me. I feel myself start to slouch again, and she must catch it because her hand lands on my forearm and she gives it a soft squeeze.

“Guys, if they’ve worked something out, why are we trying to change it?” she asks, giving me a way to insert myself back into the conversation.

I clear my throat, rolling my shoulders back again. “It’s fine, Abby. Thank you. If I’m stepping on your toes, Cecilia, I’ll leave. But I do like Maggie, and I have no problem watching her while your brother is gone.” They all stare at me, unreadable emotions on their face. “But this is only until the window is fixed. You can have her back in a week or so. I’m sorry.”

My head bows when they don’t say anything, the silence giving way to the fear that I just hurt someone’s feelings. But no, we said no more of this. My head lifts, shocked to see a smiling Cecilia staring back at me.

“Dios Mio, Kaitlyn,” she says, “You aren’t stepping on anyone's toes. My brother just doesn’t like to board her. I usually watch her. And I love her, but I can do other things if she’s not at my house. Like bake without her trying to steal everything off the counter.” She tosses me a wink eerily similar to her brothers. “You’re actually doing me a favor.”

Oh. That was unexpected. “Markus was just telling me you bake,” I add, reaching for neutral ground. Except for the way he straightens and her eyes widen, I don’t think it was the ground I thought it was.

“Something about sourdough and aioli every week.” I quickly add.

She laughs, patting her brother on the back before she leans her elbows against the counter. “I bake a lot of stuff, cakes and cupcakes are my favorite at the moment. But I only get to do that on the weekends when I’m not at my big girl job.”

She rolls her eyes, but a soft, almost dreamy smile grows on her face. “Maybe one day I’ll get tired of being sent available kitchen real estate listings and open up my own bakery.”

Markus’ head snaps in her direction. “Who’s sending you those?”

“No one that concerns you, hermano⁠*.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re my sister, of course, it concerns me.”

Her hand waves dismissively through the air, and I finally pick up a potato. The second it hits my taste buds, my eyes flutter closed, and I let out a groan. One that sounds a lot like the one from my latest audiobook. But my God. The crunchiness of the outside, the perfectly tender inside, and this sauce… To die for.

“Listen, I don’t know what I need to do to get you to teach me how to make this,” I say with my eyes still closed. “But I would live off these for the rest of my life.”

I open one eye, peeking at the silent room around me. Markus’ cheeks are stained pink, and Cecilia has what can only be described as a shit-eating grin on her face. And Hannah and Abby? Well, they’re both holding back laughter.

“Sorry,” I say once I swallow the rest of it. “This is really good. I now wish I had learned to cook.”

“You don’t know how to cook?” Cecilia asks, her hand flying to her chest. I shake my head. It’s slowly becoming a regret of mine. I wish I had taken the time to cook with my mom when she asked.

“Forget baking, I’m coming over here while he’s gone. I’ll teach you,” she says before turning to the other two girls. “You coming?”

“Duh, I’ll bring Harley!” Hannah says with a laugh. “Like I’d ever turn down a chance to eat anything you make. You’re going to die, Kait. She’s a master.”

The three of them go back and forth on all the things they want to make, but my eyes slide to Markus’. There’s something hesitant in the way he absently stares at his plate of food. The same plate that his sister still picks from now and then.

When his eyes finally meet mine, he gives me a sad smile, one that makes me question if he’s really okay with me being here. Maybe he was just being nice, maybe he does have a hero complex because he insisted on saving me when we met, too.

What feels like hours later, the girls leave, and now it’s just the two of us. “You okay?” I ask, bringing my dirty plate to the sink. He reaches for it, but I pull it away. “No, you cooked, I’ll clean.”

A small scoff leaves him, but he stays where he is. “I’m fine. And you don’t have to do that.”

Ignoring him, I turn the water on and let the blue soap that smells like “tropical paradise” slide down the plate. Neither of us says anything while I scrub away at the sauce and grease from the oil, but when I get to the skillet, I crack.

“My dad always used to clean when my mom cooked. Said it wasn’t fair for her to have to do both.” I stop for a second, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

I haven’t talked about my parents in a long time. Wyatt hated it, said they were gone, and there was no use looking back. We had a life to build together, one that didn’t include them. It wasn’t until I ran that I realized he planned to isolate me to the point I had no support outside of him. I was easier to control that way.

“He tried to get me to help, but I was a stubborn little shit.” I try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob instead. In seconds, he’s at my side with his arms wrapped around my shoulders. Tilting my head to the left, I let it rest against his chest.

The steady beat of his heart under my ear gives me something to focus on other than the sadness swimming through my veins. I didn’t realize how much of their death was left unprocessed. I just shoved it down to keep the peace. They deserved more than I gave them.