“I’ll be fine. It’s just a few hours,” she promises.
“Every half hour. Text me, or I’ll call the cops,” I tell her, holding her gaze until she nods. “I need to wait with them until they’re on that jet, but I’ll be back ASAP.”
She pats my cheek.
“Go,” she says. “And when you’re done, come back so we can tie this up. Everything.”
She doesn’t need to elaborate.
I don’t want to leave her, but there’s no damn choice.
The sooner I get them off to Portland, the quicker I can be back here, ready to face the storm.
“You know I will,” I whisper.
With a parting glance, I give her one last kiss.
Then I grab the kids’ luggage, lead them outside, and leave her standing in the middle of the living room, watching us from the door.
21
HOME ALONE (MARGOT)
In front of Kane and the kids, it was easy to look fearless and chill.
That’s what you do when you’re a mature adult who gets how important it is to look brave for everybody else.
But alone?
I’m a plucked chicken.
Being on my own doesn’t usually bother me, but tonight, it’sterrifying.
All the doors and windows are locked, of course, but I still patrol the house, triple-checking to make sure they’re holding up and haven’t mysteriously moved.
Thankfully, Holden did a good job when he’d stop in to check the place, tightening the locks and checking window seals.
“Right down to the last hinge, Miss Blackthorn,” he tells me now over the phone.
Yes, you know it’s bad when I’ve called up Gramps’ ice-cold former bodyguard for company. I used a made-up loose door as an excuse.
“Anything you need checked again? Say the word, and I can be there this week. I’d rather earn my keep, seeing how the oldman was so generous to keep me paid.” His voice is so low—almost scorched—I think he could give Kane competition in the smolder department.
“Holden, no way. What did Ethan tell you last time?” I smile, knowing he’s the only one who ever got away with calling PopPop ‘old man.’
“Relax.” He spits it like it’s a cursed word.
“Uh-huh. So you should listen. It’s totally gorgeous this fall, why don’t you take your daughter out to an orchard or something? Perfect bonding weather, even for a guy who sleeps in his suit.”
“I donot.” He snorts.
“Say, while I’ve got you, though, you’re positive he never mentioned anything weird here? Like, no secret storm shelters, no stained glass? No weird paintings or sculptures with baby shoes?”
“Miss Blackthorn, no. You’re being evasive. I can’t help you if we’re playing this game. When did you decide you were done being the easy one?”
“Hey, man, I’m messing with you. If I need your help, I’ll ask.” I smile and sigh. “But isn’t this better than getting in the middle of Ethan’s fake engagement? Or whatever Gramps left for Cleo? I bet that’ll befun.”
“Unfortunately, yes. Don’t make me regret choosing you over your reckless cousin and your punk-ass brother,” he snarls. I swallow a laugh, remembering how much trouble they used to cause when we’d stay. “However, come to think of it, you mentioned baby shoes. There was one time.”
