I shook my head and continued cooking. Soon, the kitchen smelled of sausage and sweet buttermilk pancakes.
“Morning, Kinkade crew,” June’s voice rang out. I kept my back to her.
“Morning, June Bee,” Hannah said.
“Aw, you can call me Junie like everyone else.”
“Daddy doesn’t call you Junie,” Bethany said.
“Your daddy has called me a lot of things over the years.”
I stiffened. I had used all the endearments on her once upon a time. I steeled myself and faced her. She wore black leggings and a long, multicolored sweater. Thank fuck she wasn’t wearing her cowboy boots, so I could stay in the present where I belonged. “You gonna eat?”
“Sure. Do you need a hand?”
God, no. I didn’t need to be dancing around her. “Nope.” The girls had already set the table. They’d taken extra care with June’s spot and argued over what side the napkin should go on. “Have a seat.”
“Right here.” Hannah did a little curtsy by the chair.
Everything was done cooking. I loaded the sausage, eggs, and cakes onto a rectangular serving plate and turned. The wall I’d built for fifteen years and fortified with steel cracked. Longing rammed into my chest so hard I almost staggered back.
June was smiling, her hair cascading down her back. She was listening attentively to the girls, nodding and laughing at all the right places. Even worse, none of it was for show. I knew her too well. I could tell when she was putting on a performance, during an interview or on stage.
Of course, I had avoided watching all those.
She glanced over at me and her happiness faltered. Her gaze landed on the food heaped on the plate and a light brow lifted. The corner of her mouth tipped up. She found my domestic skills amusing. At my glower, that smirk turned into a full grin.
The girls were watching us.
“Did you know,” June started in anI’ve got a secrettone that had my girls on full alert, “that when I knew your dad, he didn’t even know how to turn on an oven?”
Hannah’s scandalized gasp rang through the kitchen. “He didn’t?”
“Of course I did.” I stomped to the table and dropped the food in the middle. “Sit and eat up.” I sat in my chair and scooted forward with extra force. “Wren made sure I knew how to cook, but I spent all my free time and then some with you.”
The kitchen went silent. Two pairs of owlish eyes gawked at me, and I ignored the pair of shocked amber ones.
How could I save my epic fuckup? I did not need my girls knowing their celebrity idol had been like my other half and I’d felt half-empty since she’d left. “We used to hang out.”
“And do what?” Bethany asked.
June speared a sausage link. “Yeah, Rhys. What did we do?” She took a bite off the tip.
Lust rammed into my gut. “Talked about knitting.”
“You don’t knit!” Hannah said.
“Well”—I shrugged—“you can see why we lost touch, then. Eat up.”
June’s gaze turned introspective, but I worried about loading plates.
“Where’s your guitar?” Bethany asked.
June flipped some stray strands of hair over her shoulder, half of them blue. “In the guest room.”
Excitement lit Bethany’s eyes. “I want to learn to play.”
“Me too,” Hannah said. “And piano.”
