“I’msayingthat I saw some of this all-natural food online that was meant to be the healthiest. Kinda pricey, though.”
“Link it to me. I’ll take a look.” Quin clapped his hands. “Mabel, bed.”
She turned her pleading eyes on him, but he gave her the staredown. She trotted off to her dog bed in the corner, turning in a circle half a dozen times before settling down.
“Good girl,” Quin said. “Living room?” he asked Kit.
“Is she going to be okay in here all night by herself? Isn’t it cold?” Kit was staring at Mabel, worrying his lower lip.
Quin pointed to the pile of blankets next to the dog bed. “She’ll pull one of those over her if she wants it. She’s more than fine, I promise.”
Kit didn’t seem convinced, but passed by Quin to get into the dimly lit hallway.
“Just on the right,” Quin directed. They filed into the room; a large space dominated by Quin’s flat-screen television, a sofa and matching armchair, the small fireplace, and not much else. Kit went straight over to the mantel, picking up the framed picture Quin had been meaning to fix to the wall above it.
“Your hair was so long,” Kit said. Quin came up behind him, looking at the photograph as if he didn’t know every detailalready. A dozen members of his family smiled back at him from the image taken near the peak of Cader Idris, and though Quin couldn’t see his own face behind his windswept mop of hair, he knew he’d been smiling too.
“I refused to have it cut until I was fourteen,” Quin said, huffing.
“I think I’m supposed to say you looked cute, but you kinda resembled a mini-Sasquatch.”
Quin snorted. “Sage used to call me Quinbacca.”
Kit pressed a finger to the glass. “Is that him?”
“Yep,” Quin said. At that age, perhaps eleven or twelve, Sage was all gangly limbs and an oversized hoodie, topped off with a wide, lopsided grin that showed off his braces. “My parents,” Quin added, pointing to them where they stood on either side of him, their arms slung across his shoulders.
“Your mum is pretty,” Kit said, circling her face before moving onto Quin’s dad. “Well, hello there, Daddy.”
Quin choked on his own spit. “Please don’t call him that.”
Kit craned his neck around, eyes studying Quin. “Too close to home?”
“Something like that,” Quin said, eager to move the conversation along. It wasnotthe time to explain to Kit what the wordDaddymeant to him, and why it shouldneverbe used to refer to Quin’s own father,orwhy hearing Kit say it in his soft Scottish accent made Quin’s dick twitch.
No.
Definitely not the time.
Notyet.
“Come on,” Quin said, shooing Kit away from the mantel. “You’ve done enough snooping. Sit down and I’ll put the fire on.”
“I don’t experience temperature the same way as you.”
“Well, I’m putting the fire on, regardless,” Quin said, resolute.
Kit sat down on the armchair, but instead of sitting on the actual seat, he sat on the arm and put his feet on the seat. “What?” he asked at Quin’s inquisitive look.
“Nothing,” Quin said as he worked on setting the fire. It didn’t take long for the firestarter to catch, the kindling popping and crackling as the flames spread. Quin wondered if it might be too forward to put a candle on. One glance at Kit had him doing it anyway. So, he rooted around the junk drawer—which looked like it’d been established years ago, not weeks—for a lighter. He lit the candle, testing the scent with a quick sniff. It had been a gift from Sage, but he’d not used it before now.
“What’s that supposed to smell like?” Kit asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Not good?”
Kit cocked his head, reading the label. “What the fuck is ‘Flannel in Plaid’?”
Quin shrugged, taking another whiff of the scent. “Lumberjack?”
