“She has her father’s complete lack of artistic restraint,” Cotton corrects. “Sit.”
She points me to a stool at the island like she’s seating a toddler. I plop down and pull my laptop bag onto my lap out of habit. Bran gravitates to the opposite side of the island, standing atfirst like he doesn’t dare commit to furniture that might break under his glower.
Cotton notices and pats the nearest chair. “It’s structurally sound. Brodie sits in it all the time.”
“I’m good,” Bran says.
“You are absolutely not hovering in the kitchen like an ominous gargoyle,” Savvi says. “Sit.”
To my surprise, he obeys.
He lowers himself carefully into the chair and somehow manages not to make it squeak.
Cotton ladles beef-and-vegetable into bowls and slides one to each of us, then plunks down a plate of grilled cheese triangles between me and Bran. It’s disconcerting, watching a man built like a battering ram hold a mug of hot soup in both hands like he’s afraid it’ll break.
“Eat,” she says. “Then you can obsess over murder again. Preferably in that order.”
“Murder is not the obsession,” I say. “Preventing murder is the obsession. Completely different vibe.”
“Call it whatever you want,” she says. “Your brain still forgets your stomach exists if you don’t force-feed it.”
She’s not wrong.
I dip a grilled cheese triangle into the soup. The first bite is hot and salty and comforting in a way that makes my chest ache.
Bran tears his sandwich in half like he’s testing the structural integrity of that, too, then eats it in one bite. Cheese strings. Strong hands. Way too much for my overstimulated brain to process.
“So,” Cotton says, sliding onto the stool beside me. “You and Bran.”
I almost choke. “What about me and Bran?”
She flicks her gaze between us. “Big, broody, Kael’s favorite wrecking ball. Tiny, over-caffeinated raccoon. Forced proximity. Emotional danger. I read books, Gentry.”
“This is real life,” I say. “Not one of your smutty paperbacks.”
Her eyes sparkle. “First of all, you should be so lucky. Second, you can’t pretend this isn’t at least a little bit tropey. He literally carried you over ice earlier.”
“Oh, my God. He was making sure I didn’t break something, so Kael didn’t have to break something of his!”
“This is true,” Bran says.
“Mmhmm.”
Bran lifts his head. “You know I can hear you, right?”
“You were supposed to,” Cotton says. “Maybe if I say it out loud enough, you two will have some cathartic ‘we could die tomorrow’ moment and make my life more interesting.”
“Absolutely not,” I say at the same time he says, “Not happening.”
Our eyes meet.
There’s a beat of silence while we apparently both register that we answered in perfect sync.
Cotton clutches her chest. “Oh no. It’s worse than I thought. You’re already in the banter-bicker phase.”
“We are in the ‘he is here to annoy me and occasionally keep me from face-planting’ phase,” I say.
Bran clears his throat. “We are not in anything. I’m here to keep you alive, and that’s it.”
