“What about you, Mr. Saint? What doyoudo?”
His gaze slides over my face.
I get the impression he’s sizing me up again, just like yesterday, and my shoulders tense.
“Nothing as glamorous as shoes,” he says, nodding at Sophie, who’s still watching me.
“No, but come on. Is it top secret or what?” I joke.
He sits back and shrugs, stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth, offering nothing.
Um, okay.
When my gaze intensifies, he finally says, “I exited a start-up recently. Still planning my next move. Looking for my next big headache, I guess.”
Start-up, huh?
That is a surprise.
He’s a certified dick, but he doesn’t exactly strike me as the dorky tech bro type with their head in the clouds—or just their bank account.
That’s also not much of an answer.
I want to poke him, but before I can fire off more questions, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it.” Kane levers up from his chair, but I wave a hand.
“No way. You enjoy your breakfast. It’s my house, remember?”
It’s a relief to get away from the table, even if I’m not sure why.
Maybe because it felt so warm with the kids making easy conversation. A far cry from the stuffy, formal dinners I had at my parents’ table as a kid.
They make it too easy to feel like more than an awkward stranger crashing their family getaway.
Thank God for the adorable kiddos, really.
Sitting next to Kane Saint feels jarring enough. If it was just him, I’m not sure I could stand sharing the house.
Still, I find myself breathing easier as I walk to the front door and turn the bolt.
I blink dumbly at the unfamiliar couple waiting outside.
They’re older and kind of worn-looking, all wrinkles and leathery tans that must come from years in the harsh sun. I’d guess they’re in their late forties or fifties, squarely middle age.
The woman immediately sticks out her hand and cracks a smile too large for her face.
Her blonde hair looks unnaturally bleached, but there’s a healthy earthy vibe to her greeting that puts me more at ease.
“Hi, there! Are you the new owner?” Her smile looks bone-white next to the tan of her face and the sharp lines around her eyes. “I saw the car parked out front and I couldn’t help dropping by to say hello.”
I accept her handshake.
“Close enough. Margot Blackthorn, nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Leonidas’ granddaughter, actually.”
“Oh, poor Leon.” The woman makes a sympathetic face.
Leon?I blink at her.
