“It’s not that,” Clara argued, squinting as if trying to figure out how she knew her.
“She’s a writer,” Jesse added, because he knew Aspen wouldn’t.
Clara straightened. “I read. What do you—” She stopped, eyes widening. “Wait, are you Aspen Davies, the romance author?”
A small smile curved Aspen’s lips. “I am.”
“Oh my gosh, Iloveyour books! I was sick a while ago, and reading was the only thing that got me through. I’m pretty sure I devoured everything you had out.”
Jesse’s chest ached at the memory of Clara’s cancer, and he didn’t miss Becket’s fingers tightening around his beer.
His gaze immediately went to her glass. “What are you drinking?”
There was the smallest tensing in his sister’s shoulders. Most wouldn’t notice it. He did. She still suffered from chronic fatigue and alcohol made it worse.
“It’s called none of your business.” She looked back at Aspen. “Now, tell me, is my brother as overbearingly clean as he was growing up?”
Aspen leaned forward. “You could eat off his floor.”
Clara threw her head back and laughed.
“There’s nothing wrong with being clean.” Jesus, most woman would love to live with a tidy guy. “Becket’s clean too. It’s drilled into us in the military.”
Becket dipped his head. “It’s true. It’s just one of the reasons all the ladies love me.”
“All except Sky,” Clara said.
“Sky has issues.”
“Is Sky your girl—”
“No.” Becket cut Aspen off before she could finish. “She’s my neighbor. My frustrating, seems-to-be-irritated-by-my-very-existence neighbor.”
“She’s also cute as heck and doesn’t fall at Becket’s feet like he expects the female population to do,” Clara added.
Becket grabbed Clara playfully by the neck and scuffed her hair.
Jesus, could they not pretend to be normal for two seconds to meet a new person? He looked down at Aspen. “I’m sorry.”
For the first time since leaving the kitchen, she met his eye, an almost envious look in hers. “It’s sweet. I always wanted a sibling or two.”
“You can have both of mine. I’ve endured them long enough.”
A smile spread across her face.
He cleared his throat. “Aspen, in the kitchen—”
“Not tonight.” Her words came quickly, almost desperately. “Can we just have a night off everything?”
He wanted to push. To ask about that flinch. Find out if what he suspected was true.
Instead, he dipped his head. “Sure. I’ll get us a drink. Your usual amaretto sour?”
“Thanks.”
He turned to his sister. “Anything for you?”
She shook her head.
