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Her heart stuttered in her chest when she saw Aaron talking to Travis.
His color was better.
He looked ... stronger.
He had on a tank top and athletic shorts, paired with a pair of running shoes that looked like they’d seen some miles.
She hoped like hell he hadn’t been out exercising, not with that injury he had.
He gestured to Aaron and that was when she saw the guitar Travis held.
Unbidden delight washed through her as she realized it had to behisguitar—or one he’d picked up.
She hadn’t exactly forgotten that he played. She just hadn’t thought of it. It did something to her as she watched Aaron sit down next to him, the boy settling his guitar in his lap, making minute adjustments at Travis’s direction.
Isabel forgot about the chores she needed to do, the new clothes she’d picked up for Mariah—clothes that needed to be washed and dried, then put away. She forgot about the meal prep she needed to get to work on.
She forgot about everything but the two guys out in the yard between her place and the house where Travis was staying, one older, one younger, both so focused on the other, that they didn’t seem to notice anything else as Travis played a tune and guided Aaron through it.
When Aaron messed up a chord, Travis stopped, replayed, patiently guiding Aaron through.
“What are you looking ... oh.” Storm came to a stop next to her.
Isabel felt her cheeks heat and studiously kept her gaze on the impromptu music lesson happening outside the window.
“He really is hot,” Storm said after they finished one song and moved to another.
“I think he’s a little old for you,” Isabel said dryly.
“I’m not talking about forme.” Storm gave her a look from the corner of her eye and smirked. “And you know it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So Brooklyn didn’t see you two kissing?”
The sly innuendo in the teenaged girl’s voice had Isabel huffing out a laugh. “That’s enough, Storm,” she said, turning to face Storm.
“So youwereorweren’tkissing him?”
“None of your business,” Isabel responded even as her face flushed.
Storm grinned, the wide, pleased smile telling Isabel the girl already knew the answer.
Brooklyn came stomping up the stairs, a sulky look on her face.
Isabel brushed her fingers over the little girl’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Nothin’,” Brooklyn mumbled. But she stopped and leaned against Isabel’s leg. After a few seconds, she said, “Boys are dumb.”
“They certainly can be.” Stroking a hand down Brooklyn’s hair, she asked, “What happened?”
“Jacob won’t let me play basketball.” She tipped her head back. Her Wonder Woman tiara fell into her eyes and she pushed at it impatiently so she could glare up at Isabel. “But he’ll play with that doucheface, Brant.”
“Stop it with the doucheface talk, Brooklyn,” she said, although it was more out of habit than anything else. Her thoughts were mostly on the idea of Jacob hanging with Brant. The idea of those two kids hanging together didnotfill her with the warm and fuzzies. More like the cold and uglies. She hid her instinctive grimace and rubbed Brooklyn’s back. “I’ve told you how older boys can be. Maybe you and me can play ball together.”
Brooklyn’s scowl deepened. “No, thanks. You’re no good at basketball.”
She hugged Isabel, not noticing her foster mother’s disgruntled frown, and carried on upstairs to her room.
