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Easton discreetly punched me in the shoulder. I stopped and scowled, but he nudged me forward. Mrs. Quinn was already a considerable distance ahead of us. For an old lady, she moved pretty fast.
We trudged through the quiet halls.
“Why are you still here? Don’t you have business to do?” I whisper-hissed.
“Because you need us.” Easton’s face remained stoic, even if the words were loaded.
“You mean you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t, but that has nothing to do with it.”
I shouldn’t have bothered with the question he seemed determined to dance around. As I stared straight ahead, the first rays of light peeked through the windows. I was no stranger to being up with the sun, but I’d expected it to be later. We’d only had the grand tour so far, and it felt as if I’d been there a week.
Loud singing over a muffled radio pierced the silence. “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” by The Rolling Stones grew clear when Mrs. Quinn pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. A woman with her back to us was singing at the top of her lungs . . . and it wasn’t half bad.
“You tryin’ to sneak up on me, woman?” she asked without turning around.
“I’ve brought reinforcements,” Mrs. Quinn said, looking as though she was trying not to smile.
The heavyset lady spun and took in the three of us with a raised brow. “They better not mess up my kitchen.” She shook a wooden spoon right at me before she turned back around to whatever was on the stove and muttered something about “good-looking trouble.” Then she pointed at the wall where several aprons hung and resumed singing.
When none of us immediately moved, she said, “Make yourself useful or get out of my kitchen.”
Iwas the one who gave orders, not took them. No one so much as breathed, except the woman I assumed was Miss Nece, who continued on as if we weren’t even there, while they waited to see what I’d do.
This or jail. This or jail.
I still wasn’t completely convinced my family would send me to the slammer . . . until I looked at my father standing with his arms folded and his face like stone. He’d love to get rid of me.
I shrugged off my suit jacket, loosened my tie, and hung it on an empty hook next to a few pink aprons. I snagged one and tied it around my waist. “I’m yours to do with as you please, sugar.”
I flashed my best grin at the woman who was old enough to be my grandmother. Might as well attempt to win her over if we were going to have to work together. I could play nice when I wanted to.
“The next time you say sugar, you better be talkin’ ‘bout this.” She pointed at a fifty-pound bag of the white stuff. I stepped back. She looked like she might hit me with it no matter how heavy it was. “Now put on some gloves and plate those muffins real pretty-like.”
She motioned to a box of plastic gloves before I could ask where they were and then turned her icy look on my brother and father. Something about that made me like her.
“What can we—”
“See them glasses and plates? Start takin’ ’em out to the dining room,” she commanded.
Easton and Dad jumped right into action, grabbing as much as they could.
“I’ll show you where to stack them,” Mrs. Quinn said as she held the door for them.
The door was still swinging when Miss Nece turned all her attention back to me. “This is serious business. If you ain’t gonna take it as such, you can get out of my kitchen right now.”
I gestured down my body. “Doesn’t get more serious than a pink apron. I wouldn’t wear this for just anybody.”
She muttered something about Jesus and trouble, though I couldn’t understand the sentence. But I swore as I finished plating the tray of muffins I saw her smile.
Chapter Six
Sonya
“ShouldI be offended you’re the first male to see me naked in a while, and you’re trying to escape?”
Sam nudged the glass door to the shower. For some genius reason, I thought giving him a bath would be easier in the shower stall if we were both in it. His back half was shampooed, his face was wet, and he was putting up a fight I honestly wouldn’t have thought he had in him. Then again, he was a survivor.
