Thankfully, the kitchen’s empty.
The sigh of relief slams to a halt in my lungs when I see the plate in the middle of the counter under a glass cake dome.
Blueberry muffins, courtesy of Miss Blackthorn.
There’s a note beside it, too, written in the pretty, flowing handwriting of someone who went to a private school. Probably the only place on Earth where they still mint kids who care about their cursive.
I pick it up and read.
Breakfast hit the spot and I thought I’d return the favor.Help yourselves!
Fucking great.
Like Sophie needs another excuse to fangirl over Margot Blackthorn.
She only mentioned her about a dozen times out on the water.
No surprise when Margot’s pretty, shoe-obsessed, and visually successful.
Everything I worry about my little girl trying to idolize. I grew up comfortable, not stupidly rich, and there are dangers to spoiling her too much.
I don’t want blue-blooded young women with Instagram model looks setting her standards.
Then again, doesn’t every kid need a positive role model?
Someone whoisn’ther mom.
However much Margot annoys me, she let us stay. Plus, she has a profession that isn’t modeling in obscure locations with a string of revolving boyfriends.
Fuck.
I don’tdislikeher, necessarily.
Maybe my cave bear instinct just comes out because I don’t want more trouble. We’ve had our limit.
“Are those muffins? Score!” Predictably, Dan’s the first one back in the kitchen. His hair is still damp from his shower, sticking up in all directions like a human cactus, and there’s a redness in his cheeks I haven’t seen in a while.
“Just one before lunch,” I warn as he rips the glass cover off. “If you’re still hungry, you can have another one after we eat.”
Sophie gasps as she clatters into the kitchen, stumbling against the counter in her excitement. The ortho shoes aren’t always great for a kid’s balance, either.
She flushes, but her beady little eyes are fixed on the muffin stack.
“Margot made these?” she asks.
It seems obvious.
Yet I still have to pinch my jaw to bite back my irritation.
After our morning on the lake, it’s a godsend to two hungry kids, and even I have to agree it’s homey.
Damnably so.
The room still smells like a bakery, all sugar and berries and batter.
“See? I told you she was cool,” Sophie says, taking an enormous bite. Her eyes roll back in her head. “Yum! Her baking game’s on point too, Dad. Try it.”
“Yeah, she could teach you a thing or two,” Dan tells me, smacking his lips.
