If I knew where the sharp knives were in my kitchen I could have used one to cut through the tension that settled between the three of us. Fallon took a seat on one of the stools, sipping her coffee, looking everywhere but at me or my brother. George’s narrowed gaze bounced from me to her.
‘So you guys fucked right?’ he said into the silence.
Coffee got caught in my throat. I coughed, pounding my chest with a fist to clear my passage enough to take a deep breath. Fallon’s eyes widened.
‘What the fuck, man?’ I croaked.
He shrugged. ‘I wanted to get the facts straight.’
I wiped the corners of my mouth, doing my best not to look at her.
‘There’s this thing called tact.’
‘Yes.’
Simultaneously, we both turned our heads to Fallon who rested her arms on the counter, hands clasped in front of her like a judge issuing a verdict. Her makeupless face was stained pink. The only sign that she was less than comfortable with this situation.
‘We’ve… as you so delicately put it… fucked,’ she stated, looking George directly in the eye. ‘It happened. But we’ve both decided to pretend it didn’t so we can focus all our energy on the book, which is the ultimate goal.’
Her tone was detached. Formal. Like she’d relayed that statement countless times before. It stung.
‘Did you now?’ An amused expression flashed across George’s face.
Fallon nodded firmly. ‘Yes.’
‘So being half-naked when I came in… That was purely professional was it?’
The flush on her face, spread all the way down her neck.
‘I’m calling bullshit,’ George declared.
Desperate to change the subject and ease some of Fallon’s discomfort, I held up my hand to George. ‘You didn’t tell me what you’re doing here.’
He sighed, finally heeding the subtle warning in my tone. ‘It’s Sunday. The shop’s closed and I wanted to spend time with my little brother. That a problem?’
The guilt that had been burrowing steadily under my skin since George walked in, turned into a full on gnawing sensation in my gut.
Whatever he read on my face was enough of an apology for him to smile and pat me on the back. He opened his mouth, about to say something when he caught sight of the cooker behind me.
‘What the fuck were you doing to that bacon?’ He left my side to inspect the pan.
‘Hey, that pig hated me the moment I took it out of the packet. It’s not my fault.’
‘You’ve massacred it, you twat.’ George picked up a blackened strip and waved it accusingly at me. ‘That’s no better than coal.’ He flung it at me with a shake of his head.
I dodged the flying rasher, picking up the tea towel from the counter and chucked it at him. He caught it with a scowl. Food was a huge part of George’s life. He loved cooking and experimenting with recipes. If his love of plants and hisdedication to our mother hadn’t been so strong, he would have likely opened his own restaurant.
‘Gimme this, you’re not allowed near this stove for the foreseeable future.’ He turned back and started scraping the burnt bacon into the bin, tutting.
‘Fine by me.’
I was about to go make myself a coffee when my gaze snagged on Fallon who was watching our whole interaction with amusement and a hint of wonder.
‘What?’ I asked quietly, tilting my head. Wanting to know the questions that danced behind those pretty eyes.
She lifted her shoulder in a casual shrug. ‘It’s just strange to me, you guys really like each other.’
I frowned. Before I could speak, George piped up, ‘Most of the time. Since when do you have food in your fridge?’ he called out from across the kitchen, his face hidden by the fridge door.
