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From the outside of her house, it looked like nobody was home. The curtains were drawn and it was quiet as he reached the front door. He juggled the food items and fished the key she’d given him out of his jacket pocket, then let himself inside. The light was dim, despite it being sunny outside. Leah was probably napping.
He closed the door behind him quietly and tiptoed through the house, toward the kitchen, knowing exactly where to step to avoid the squeaky floorboard that had gotten him in trouble for sneaking out. After stashing the lasagna in the fridge and putting the groceries away, he noticed there were a few cups in the sink. During a flare-up, Leah suffered with extreme fatigue and even something as simple as loading the dishwasher could be too much.
He made his way quietly around the ground floor of the house, finding a few more discarded and half-drunk mugs of herbal tea, and he loaded them all into the dishwasher. As he wiped the sink and countertops down, Keaton sensed movement behind him and felt the air shift. Nails clicked along the floorboards in a way that made him sigh.
“Molly,” he said, turning around.
The husky sat in the entrance of the kitchen and narrowed her icy blue eyes at him. She let out a snort, followed by a disgusted shake of her head. Typical.
“Sorry, Your Majesty. Am I invading your personal space?” He did a mock bow toward the dog. “Please forgive me.”
Molly tilted her snout up at him as if to say,That’s right, peasant. Remember who’s in charge here.
The dog walked toward her bowl, her voluminous tail swishing back and forth. She reallywasa stunning dog. Too bad she was fully aware of it. Stopping right next to her food bowl, she looked up at Keaton as if to say,And why haven’t you prepared my dinner yet?
“I’m not here to feed you,” he muttered. “Besides, I know you eat in the morning and late evening only. Nice try, though.”
The dog made a sound of annoyance—the kind of almost-human whine that only a dramatic husky could make—and looked pointedly at her bowl. When Keaton didn’t scramble to accommodate the request, she stared daggers at him and stamped her paw.
Literally stamped her paw.
“Are you going to throw a tantrum?” he asked. “See if I care. I’m not going to be manipulated into giving you an extra meal.”
This husky would do literally anything for food. She’d beg, borrow and steal her way into whatever edible items she could get. Molly continued to look at him, the intense blue eye contact a little unnerving. Then, letting out a great big sigh like she hated herself for a moment, she lifted one paw into the shake position.
Smart dog. She knew tricks equaled treats.
But Keaton wasn’t here to be at Molly’s beck and call—he was here to take care of his sister.
“I don’t care if you show me how to do the freaking cancan, dog. Not going to happen.”
She put the paw down and glared at him. Why did he get the feeling she was trying to see if she could pop his head like a grape with her husky mind powers? Rolling his eyes, Keaton went back to the dishes. Molly, unimpressed with the fact that a human had refused to bow to her desires, flounced off in a huff, taking a moment to knock over a potted plant on her way out of the kitchen.
“Goddamn dog,” Keaton muttered as he went to clean up the mess, scooping the dirt back into the pot as best he could.
He was sweeping up the remaining dirt and dead leaves when he heard footsteps and the soft thump of a rubber-stopped cane. “Kea?”
“In the kitchen.” He used the dustpan to transport the mess to the trash. There, the kitchen was good as new.
“I heard a crash.” She ground her fist into one eye, her other hand leaning heavily on her cane.
“Sorry.” Even though it wasn’t his fault, he felt a streak of guilt for waking her. She needed her rest. “Molly knocked over your plant. I think it was retaliation.”
“For what?” A smile lifted the corner of her lips, but it only lasted a second before tiredness drew it back down.
“Refusing to feed her. I know her schedule, but she tried to trick me into giving extra.” He reached a hand out to his sister’s arm and squeezed. “You should get back to bed.”
“I’m up now.” She shook her head. “I might make some tea. Want some?”
“Sit. I’ll make it.” He went right to the cabinet where Leah’s impressive collection of teas was stored.
Their grandmother was British and the love of tea had been passed down through the family. For Leah, it had become a passion, and Keaton took great pride in finding new blends for her to try whenever he traveled. He’d brought her some from Harrods in London, TWG from a trip to Singapore, and some David’s Tea one time when he went up to Montreal. She loved every kind of tea—black, green, herbal, matcha.
“What do you feel like?” He rifled through the cupboard.
“Anything. I just want something warm and soothing.”
Keaton grabbed for a caffeine-free blend containing chamomile, lavender and a few other aromatics. Better not to have anything that might disrupt her sleep when she got back to bed. He filled the kettle and set it to boil and put the tea bags into two mugs.
