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“Distracted, huh? Sounds like a hell of a kiss,” Carly said, and although Sloane recognized the subtle bid for information, her resolve didn’t budge.
“Even good distractions are still distractions. Now fork over that muffin, would you? I’m starving.”
Sloane dug into the crumbly cinnamon perfection with a less-than-dainty grunt, losing herself in thought as the jamlike sweetness of the warm raisins and the rich, dark cinnamon melted in her mouth. Okay, so she’d left out a teensy part of the equation, and it rattled around in her brain like a marble in a glass box.
Gavin thought she was good enough to look after the one person in life who meant more to him than anything else. He’d even said so, and the words had nearly derailed her to the point of saying no. But then he’d mentioned her book, and everything had whipped into startling focus.
Trying to write a book in Pine Mountain had been an exercise in futility. If she wanted to save her career, she had to go to Greece. And that meant shehadto say yes. So not only would she stay, but for the next six weeks, she’d be the best damned babysitter to ever set foot in the Blue Ridge.
Sloane couldn’t let Gavin see how wrong he’d been about her being good enough. Her livelihood depended on it.
* * *
Sloane crunchedher eyebrows over the scribbled notes on her legal pad, re-reading each of the six pages she’d written with growing confusion. The words made sense—in fact, they madewonderfulsense, evoking an excitement from deep in her belly that she hadn’t felt in far too long.
But she had no idea where they’d come from, and the wordGreecedidn’t appear on the pages. Not even once.
“Great. Now, what am I supposed to do with it?”
Her semi-sarcastic mumble was punctuated by the sound of a key in the lock, and Sloane tossed her legal pad to the couch just in time to catch the blur of haphazard ponytail and threadbare jacket that signaled the arrival of her charge.
“Hey, you. How was school?” She pulled her writing hat to her lap, twisting the thick cotton edges absently between her fingers.
“It was school.” Bree shrugged, slinging her backpack from her waif-like shoulder with a heavy thud. She made her way to the kitchen, and Sloane followed suit.
“At least it’s Friday,” Sloane volunteered with enough shiny enthusiasm to make herself slightly nauseous. All week, she’d been pouring effort into making sure Bree was one hundred percent well-cared for, stopping just short of tucking the kid in at night. And all week, Bree had given absolutely zero indication that she cared one way or the other, let alone liked Sloane enough to specifically request her for a babysitter.
Who knew kids were so damned infuriating?
“I guess.” Bree lifted an arm to slide a glass from the cupboard, revealing a quarter-sized hole in the underarm of her shirt.
“Whoa, your shirt needs a little surgery there.” Sloane gestured to the split in the fabric, and Bree jerked her head toward it for a churlish inspection.
“Again?” She mashed her arm flat against her side as if to smother the hole into submission, shifting her weight to accommodate her new stance.
Even though she knew she risked Bree’s ire by doing it, Sloane gave the girl a long, up-and-down appraisal, and her heart panged with realization. It took a close inspection to realize it, but the sleeves on Bree’s shirt revealed just enough of her wrist to be too short, and the fabric sat a touch too snugly over her arms. If she lifted a hand just right, she’d pop that underarm seam like a grape.
How long had it been since Bree had gone shopping for new clothes?
Sloane opened her mouth to put words to the question in her mind, but Bree’s pink cheeks and reinforced scowl made her stop mid-breath. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Bree embarrassed easily, and putting her under a microscope, even with good intentions, certainly wouldn’t get Sloane in her good graces. Maybe she should just let it go.
Bree stooped down to pull a soda from the fridge, and the gap between her shirt and jeans revealed the bunchy, shapeless waistband of her underwear. Lord, they must be clinging to life by a literal thread. No way could Sloane turn the other cheek. But how could she possibly make headway with this kid without getting shot down, just like she had all week?
Unless…
“Hey, did I ever tell you that when I was thirteen, I grew so fast that my father tried puttingThe Complete Works of William Shakespeareon my head to get me to stop?” Sloane cocked her hip and leaned against the countertop, trying to look as bored as possible.
Bree’s eyes flashed, chocolate-brown and wary, but she didn’t say anything. Sloane’s gut gave a twinge of defeat, but she stuffed it down.
“He was kidding, of course. But man, I think I grew four inches that summer alone. I was the tallest kid in the eighth grade.”
“Even taller than the boys?” Bree’s voice sifted past the hum of the fridge, barely audible.
“Oh, yeah,” Sloane said, meeting the question with an easy laugh. “They totally made fun of me.”
Bree’s brow folded over a look of disbelief. “Ofyou?”
She nodded, putting up her hand as if taking a solemn oath. “Yup. Too-Tall Sloaney Baloney, at your service.”
