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“Yeah,” I admit, looking around his home. I didn’t pay too much attention to his décor and personal touches when I stopped by Monday. He’s painted it warm white compared to Sage’s stark white, and where Sage’s place plays off the black, white, and chrome of the kitchen, Lachlan has opted for rich wood accents and leather furniture. There’s a rumpled worn patchwork quilt piled on the couch like he was lying there sometime before I knocked.
He notices where I’m looking and says, “My gran made that for me when I was four. It’s old and falling apart, but…”
“It’s sentimental and you love it,” I finish for him, reaching down to pet Zeppelin. The large dog rubs his whole body against me and I swear he hums.
He smiles and nods. “Exactly.” He picks up a book from the counter, handing it to me. I study the cover, dark blue with a geometric pattern that has images of a castle peeking through. “It’s fantasy, I thought you could try another genre. You’re welcome to stay for breakfast if you want.” He bites his lip, brows furrowing. Maybe he realizes that it wouldn’t be normal for a school counselor to invite his student for breakfast, but he doesn’t take it back.
“That’s okay, I need to … um … get back.”
I kind of do, since I snuck out when Sage went down the street to grab coffee and muffins for our breakfast.
“You can take some with you if you want. There’s plenty. I kind of go overboard when I cook.”
“You cook a lot?”
“I do. I enjoy it.”
“I can’t cook,” I admit with a quiet laugh. “Neither can my brother. We’re supposed to take lessons later today, actually.”
Sage finally scheduled us for culinary classes and while I’m looking forward to spending time with my brother that doe
sn’t involve moping around his condo, I’m mildly afraid of the chaos we’re about to bring to some unsuspecting chef.
Lachlan laughs. “It’s not all that difficult and it’s fun to experiment with flavors. See what works together and what doesn’t,” he muses, pulling a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.
“Tell that to the gelatinous eggs my brother makes and the pasta water I burned.”
He stifles a laugh. “You burned water?”
“It’s an oxymoron, I know, but it happened.”
“Interesting.”
I want to keep standing there talking to him.
“So, fantasy, huh?” I find myself saying.
“Yeah,” he turns the stove on, adding some olive oil to a skillet, “I mostly read psychological thrillers, but I’ve been known to dabble in other genres. In my opinion you can learn anything from any book.”
“That so?” I open the book, flipping through the pages.
He shrugs, cracking an egg into the hot skillet. “Anyone who says you can’t doesn’t have an open mind.”
“Interesting,” I muse, and his lips twitch. I realize it’s because he used the same word for me. “I better get going.” I bend down and love on Zeppelin.
“I’ll bring some more books to school so I’ll have them when you finish. That one is a series, and I have the rest if you like it.” He points at the book clasped against my chest.
“Okay, I’ll let you know. Bye.”
I wave and let myself out so he can finish cooking his breakfast.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator down to Sage’s floor. I slip inside the apartment and close the door, locking it behind me. I’ve barely set the book on my bedside table when I hear the door open with Sage’s arrival.
Fixing my hair since it’s fallen out of the messy bun I put it in when I woke up, I walk out to the kitchen.
“Cinnamon dolce latte.” Sage passes me the Starbucks cup. “And a red eye for me.” He takes a sip, letting out a low whistle. “That’s good, and much needed.”
He’s not lying. The dark circles under his eyes worry me. I know it’s partly my fault and I silently vow to be a better sister to him. I don’t like adding to his burdens.
