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My gaze narrows as it flits to the occupied doorway. “First of all,rude.”
August rolls his eyes.
“Second of all,” I continue. “No way. I swear you didn’t make a real appearance until you were ready to get out, and even then you were so tiny, you just slipped right out.”
“Mama.”
It’s my turn to throw my eyes towards the ceiling. “Oh my God, kid. Everyone was born. Keep making faces and I’m making you hold my hand during labor.”
The threat to end all threats, apparently; I’ve never seen August shush and fix his face so quickly. He even throws in a, “You look pretty,” kiss-ass compliment that earns him a shove before we jostle our way downstairs.
When we reach the bottom step, we frown at each other. “Do you smell that?”
I sniff. “Is that smoke?”
Within a split second of entering Cass’ kitchen, I learn why everyone calls Isaac and Rory ‘The Terror Twins.’
I’ve only seen glimpses of their chaos before. Bickering here, a prank there. I’ve heard stories too but honestly, I thought they were exaggerated. As I stare around a destroyed kitchen, I’m pretty sure they were understated.
If this was my house, I would cry. I would stare at the smoothie-stained ceiling, at the raw egg smeared all over the counter, at whatever the hell the black tar-like substance stuck to the bottom of a frying pan, and I would cry. If this was anyone else’s house, I would cry for them.
But it’s Cass’s house. The man who dropped—deep breath—four hundred dollars on a freaking dress for a woman who isn’t actually his girlfriend. He can afford a cleaning service.
And for that very reason, I let myself cackle. “What the hell did you do?”
“We were tryna make breakfast!” Isaac whines. “Rory’s the one who didn’t put the lid on the blender.”
An outraged roar sounds. I must’ve been in the shower when the eldest Silva arrived because I didn’t hear her come in—I didn’t hear any of this. “Izzy turned on the stove when he knows he’s not allowed!”
“I am allowed!”
“Since when?”
“Since I’m almost twelve.”
Rory snorts.
Izzy mimics her, nose in the air as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you’re not allowed ‘cause you’re younger than me.”
“Barely.”
“Is the stove still on?”
August’s question garners two panicked looks.
Sobering, I round the island and quickly turn off the heat, carefully moving the ruined pan away from the hot burner. “And the egg?”
“Isaac,” Rory blames at the same time her cousin claims, “Aurora.”
I shake my head at the pair, rolling my lips together to stop another laugh. “One of you get a broom,” I instruct, eyeing the broken egg shell and globs of smoothie on the ground. “Someone else get a mop. No one touch the stove, okay?”
The pair hop to it with no objections—grateful to not be getting chewed out, I assume. While they jostle their way to wherever Cass keeps his cleaning supplies, I wrap a dishcloth around the hot handle of that poor, dead frying pan and transfer it to the sink, first dousing it in cold water to cool it down, then switching to hot so I can try to melt away what looks like an alien lifeform.
When I pick up the dish sponge, August snatches it away and nudges me aside. “You’ll ruin your dress.”
Right. The dress that cost about half of my weekly wage. Definitely wise to avoid getting unidentifiable goo all over it. “Good thinking.” I smack a kiss on his cheek before grabbing a rag. As I’m soaking it with water, the front door opens.
“Don’t blame me for the mess,” I shout without looking to confirm it’s Cass returning from his run. “It was all Rory.”
