What sort of life does this Saint have beyond his kids?
How many storms are raging behind his guarded green eyes?
6
TOO CLOSE TO HOME (KANE)
Now that Margot’s confessed—and this time I believe her—I don’t mind her company, or the influence she has on my kids.
If only I could blunt her curiosity.
The day dawns clear and bright, and when she comes sailing into the kitchen for breakfast, blonde hair piled on her head and dressed casually in jeans and a grey sweater with a red stripe running across her breasts, she doesn’t look so skittish.
She’s adjusted to our presence.
“No breakfast today?” she asks, hand on her hip. “Didn’t anyone tell you guys it’s the most important meal of the day?”
“We’re eating out today.” I nod at the SUV parked outside the house. “There’s a little diner Sophie spotted on the way in. I promised we’d get breakfast there.”
“It smelledamazing. Like cinnamon rolls or something delish,” Sophie says.
Margot laughs, jamming her shades into her hair like it’s old habit. I doubt I’m the first man ruined by that look.
“Jenny’s, right? Best place in town! Not that there’s much competition in Sully Bay, but it’s a cute place with good food. PopPop used to take us there all the time when we were little.”
“Are we ready yet? I’m starving.” Dan yawns impatiently.
“You’re always hungry, little man. Guess I’m screwed in a few more years when the growth spurt hits and you eat twice as much. Come on.” I gesture at the door with my thumb.
The diner’s only a ten-minute drive away, and by the time we’re on the road, all I can smell is Margot’s perfume.
She makes the morning brighter still.
Don’t know whether her smiles are meant to make up for the awkward end to last night when she pushed too far, but I don’t mind them.
I’m a morning person by nature and the kids are at that age where they drag when it’s early.
Having a woman around who can keep up with my energy, that’s a welcome change.
“Table for four?” the waitress asks when she sees us. “Right this way.”
“She’s been working here as long as I’ve been coming.” Margot laughs. “Must be at least twenty years.”
“Wow. Does this place ever change?” Dan asks.
“Nope! That’s the beauty of it.”
The seats are sticky old leather, but the table’s clean and there’s a mini jukebox fixed to the wall.
Dan starts fussing with it the second we sit down, trying to find an Elvis song.
Margot entertains Sophie with stories about the pranks she and her brother used to trade on their summers here.
Mostly harmless kid stuff, even if her older brother sounds like a damn punk.
I’m only half listening as the food arrives, watching as Margot smothers her eggs in hot sauce and takes big, hungry bites.
The girl caneat.And she doesn’t mind her spice, which surprises me.
