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Bree lifted one shoulder in a birdlike flutter. “She likes Shakespeare.”
“She’s a writer, Bree. All in all, that’s not too shocking.”
“She went on for like ten whole minutes about howRomeo and Julietisn’t a romance because there’s no happily ever after, only a bunch of tragic elements. And she cited direct quotes. In a British accent.”
Gavin choked out a laugh. “Really?”
“It’s not as much fun as it sounds,” Bree said, although a smile twitched over her lips. “And anyway, only nerds know that much about Shakespeare.”
Huh. She kind of had a point. Sloane struck him more like the naughty limerick type. The fact that she seemed to house a vast knowledge of Shakespearean plays was as much a surprise to him as it was to Bree.
“That knowledge helped you get all your work done,” he offered, starting to whisk the eggs. “So it can’t be that bad.”
Another shrug. “Yeah.”
They lapsed into silence while Gavin finished prepping the omelet mixture, then melted a pat of butter into a rich, golden river across the bottom of his skillet before starting to cook. The conversation, while neither deep nor terribly meaningful, had been one of the longest they’d had since their mom died that didn’t contain an argument. Bree had once been the kind of kid who would burst into laughter just as soon as look at you. When had it become so difficult for them to just talk?
“So, ah, you want to flip these when they’re ready?” Gavin dipped his chin at the stove, giving the batter in the skillet an expert tilt. Omelets were finicky as hell, and if you didn’t keep a careful eye on them, they went right from hot breakfast to hot mess.
Bree crinkled her nose. “I don’t think so.”
He knew he should let it slide, but something about the small success of their earlier conversation made Gavin push instead. “Come on. You always ended up with the most perfectly folded eggs when we’d make these at home. You’re a natural.”
“Uh-uh.” Bree’s protest chilled by a few degrees, but she didn’t shut down or walk away. Maybe teasing her a little would bring her out of her shell, and he could unearth one of those fantastic smiles he knew she was capable of.
“Don’t be so modest, kiddo.” He tossed in some ham and Gruyère, giving the pan another slanted shake as he pulled it off the burner with a flourish and a smile. “Here, it’s already starting to slide. C’mon! Go for it.”
“I saidno!”
The shrill burst of the word hit him with all the force of an actual blow, and for a minute, neither of them spoke. Not knowing what else to do, Gavin flipped the omelet gracelessly and deposited it onto a plate.
“Sorry,” he finally managed, and the brief ease he’d felt just moments before went completely numb. Goddamnit, he was in so far over his head. He didn’t even know how to communicate with his own sister.
“I don’t…I just don’t want to cook, that’s all.” Bree’s voice cracked over the words, as broken as the eggshells on the butcher block between them. “Okay?”
Gavin started to say no, it was definitelynotokay for them to keep going like this, fighting each other at every freaking turn, when her expression knocked the breath from his lungs.
Rather than wearing her customary scowl, Bree looked at him with genuine pleading. Tears tracked down both sides of her face, so silently that if he hadn’t looked with care, he’d have missed them altogether.
“Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind.”
* * *
Sloane peered downat her cell phone and willed herself not to throw up. What had she been thinking when she’d signed up to get those stupid text reminders about her autopay going through?
“Are you okay?” Carly’s voice startled Sloane from her reverie of debt, whirling her back to one of the most posh suites Pine Mountain Resort had to offer. Sloane straightened from her perch in a tastefully fancy silk and damask chair, stuffing her phone into her tiny purse.
“Yeah, of course.” While she didn’t make it a habit to lie, she was pretty sure there was a special circle in hell for people who bogged their best friends down with personal issues on their wedding day. Although if Sloane got kicked out of the bungalow for not paying her rent, moving back in with her mother would make that circle of hell look like a carnival ride at Coney Island.
Shit.
“Are you sure? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Sloane pasted on a smile and shoved her purse out of sight behind a lamp on the side table. “Nope! I’m totally fine.”
Okay, so she wasn’tfine-fine, but she wasn’t exactly screwed, either. As of this morning, she had a whole week’s worth of babysitting under her belt, and Gavin had paid her enough to help cover the bungalow for this month, at least. But paying rent would drain her account, tossing her back to square one on her ticket out of Dodge, and with the rest of her bills, next month’s rent was iffy at best.
She had to be on a plane by then.
