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He’s not wrong. But none of them work in a field where they occasionally have to go silent for days at a time while doing potentially risky things. That explains why Janey wants the location service. Me? I’m just stalkerish by nature at this point after seeing and hearing some of the stories I have.
“I know,” I admit. “Believe me, I fucking know.”
A loud rumbling echoes down the street a moment before Kyle turns into the front drive. He’s going too fast but expertly leans into the turn, kicking up dust as he hits the end of the driveway. Thankfully, the gate is open because he blasts past it, parking in front of the house. Rather than turning the motorcycle off, he revs the throttle a few times first, announcing his arrival with roaring growls before shutting off the engine. When he pulls his helmet off and hangs it over the handlebars, his grin is wide and toothy. He’s here, early even, but he still had to make an entrance of some sort.
The noise pulls Dad out of his office and the two cross paths in the foyer.
“What’re you doing here?” Dad asks, not cruelly, but rather, in surprise at Kyle’s timeliness.
“Mandatory family dinner, right?” Kyle says without pausing, walking past Dad and into the living room, plopping into a chair across from Carter and me like he owns the joint. He quirks a brow at me, silently letting me know that he’s here because I asked him to be, but he’s still gonna do what he can to make Dad mad because that’s what he does.
“Yes,” Dad answers, his brows furrowed as he looks from Kyle to Carter to me. He’s probably trying to figure out just what sort of magic Carter or I used to get Kyle here on time and why he isn’t able to do the same thing. Problem is, the answer is in his mirror, and Dad’s like me, not willing to look there voluntarily. “Let me wrap things up.”
He disappears back down the hall to his office, where he and Cameron are doing fuck-knows-what for the family company.
Kyle leans his head sideways to watch Dad go. “They do know it’s Saturday, right? As in, The Weekend. Like, no-worky-days.”
“Funny,” Carter quips dryly. “Pretty sure that’s all they do.”
Carter shouldn’t throw stones. He used to be just as bad, tangled up in the rat race to the top of cheese mountain, fighting to beat Cameron at every turn. It wasn’t until he found a way to escape with Luna that he found some work-life balance, but at least he can see beyond the boardroom these days.
I’m not sure that’s the case for Cameron, and it’s certainly never been the case for Dad.
My phone vibrates, alerting me that Janey’s dot has converged on my dot. “They’re here.” I’m heading for the garage door as I say the words, going out to meet Janey.
Gracie beats me to it, busting into the house and shouting at the top of her lungs in excitement, “Dad!! Come look at my nails!”
As all the women walk in behind Gracie, I only have eyes for Janey. It’s only been a few hours, but damn, I missed her. I take her in my arms, wrapping her in a big hug and pressing a solid kiss to her lips, which are smiling. “Did you have fun?”
Her gray eyes are dancing as she nods wildly, making her curls bounce. “We did! Everyone got pedicures and manicures. Even me!” She holds up her unpolished nails like I’m supposed to see something there, so I smile at the difference even though they look the same as they did this morning. “I got this cuticle oil that’s gonna be life changing with all the handwashes. And my toes are lavender.”
“Your favorite color,” I say, and she smiles, pleased that I know that small, basic detail as if her favorite mug, keychain, and toothbrush aren’t the same color.
I guess Dad and Cameron really were wrapping it up because Cameron appears to answer his daughter’s call. “Let me see,” he tells her with a smile. It’s good to see Cam smile.
Gracie holds up her pinkie and ring fingers. “See! These are purple.” She switches to her index fingers and thumbs. “And these are red.” And then she holds up both middle fingers, innocently flipping her dad off as she proclaims, “And these are magenta. Aunt Kayla helped me pick this color.”
Kayla beams proudly like ‘yep, I did that.’
Cameron doesn’t react, not even a quirk of his brow as he looks thoughtfully at his daughter’s nails. “They look really pretty, honey. Why don’t you go wash up before dinner?”
As soon as she skips off to do so, he laughs. “Do you think she knew what she was doing?” He shakes his head, answering his own question. “Probably not, right?”
