She hasn’t noticed me yet. She’s staring into the mug, deep in thought, and every few seconds she pulls the cardigan tighter across her chest, fingers white-knuckled on the edges.
I clear my throat.
Her head snaps up. Those green eyes go wide, then drop straight to my bare chest and stall there. Color floods her cheeks. She yanks the cardigan closed again.
Good. Maybe I’m not the only one suffering.
“Morning,” I manage, voice gravel.
“Hi,” she whispers, then takes a frantic sip of tea and winces like it burned her tongue.
Mom bustles in from the pantry, flour on her cheek, oblivious to the fact that the kitchen just turned into a live wire.
“Oliver! Perfect timing. You can help roll dough.” She thrusts a ball of sugar-cookie dough at me, then spots Savannah. “Sweetheart, you’re pale. Sit. Drink your tea. Ginger’s good for the stomach.”
Savannah’s eyes flick to me in pure panic.
I take the dough, set it on the marble, and start rolling because it gives me something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for her.
Ellie bounces in next, still in candy-cane pajama shorts, hair in two buns like some kind of festive gremlin.
“Coffee,” she groans, making a beeline for the espresso machine. “Why is everyone up before noon? This is inhumane.”
She hip-checks me out of the way to grab a mug, then pauses.
“Dude, we have company. Put a damn shirt on.”
“Language,” Mom sings without looking up.
Ellie ignores her and turns to Savannah. “You okay, babe? You look like death.”
“I’m fine,” Savannah says too quickly.
“You’re drinking ginger tea,” Ellie says, horrified. “You hate ginger tea. You once said it tastes like Christmas threw up in a swamp.”
Savannah’s laugh is thin. “Stomach’s off.”
I roll the dough harder than necessary—the rolling pin thunks against the marble.
Ellie pours her coffee, leans against the counter, and studies us. Her gaze bounces from me to Savannah and back again.
I feel the moment she puts it together. Her eyes narrow, then widen. A slow, evil grin spreads across her face.
“Oh my God,” she says, delighted. “This is about sex.”
“Eleanor!” Mom gasps.
Savannah chokes on her tea.
I drop the rolling pin. It clatters loud enough to make everyone jump.
“Ellie,” I warn, low.
She ignores me completely and spins to Savannah. “You and my brother. Finally. I knew it. I called this in tenth grade.”
Savannah’s face goes scarlet. “There is no—”
“Don’t even try,” Ellie cuts in, practically vibrating. “He’s shirtless and growling, and can’t take your eyes off him even though you're pretending not to stare. I’m not blind.”
