If there were anyone who could perhaps understand my current emotional state, it would have been Dad.
I frowned at the reflection in the mirror.
“Must we have this same conversation month after month?” I threw the hand towel on the floor and pushed past him, hoping he’d drop it. I heard his heavy footfalls behind me, and I sighed, cracking my neck.
Perhaps Mom had the foresight of my mood, and that was why she made extra cinnamon rolls for after myerrand—but I’d never been that lucky.
Luckily, Cam lived a whopping hundred feet away, and my knuckles rapped on the screen door as I tapped my foot impatiently on the front porch steps. There wasn’t an appropriate amount of time before it was socially acceptable to cut and run, so I counted to three and bent to leave the glass Pyrex on the ground when I heard the snick of the door lock.
“Yes?” said an entirely too feminine voice. Since I’d barely interacted with him or his houseguest, it took me a moment to remember Cam had company.
I hung my head and then rose slowly, holding the container and using the seconds to arrange my features in a way that resembled a human who wanted to interact with another human.
Her legs made the ascent easier. So did her curvy hips and the way her top hugged her waist. My eyes were drawn to the sliver of skin showing where her shirt had ridden up, and I shook my head, disgusted at myself for shamelessly taking in every dip and curve of her.
“I have cinnamon rolls,” I said, meeting the gaze of that same pretty brunette with dark eyes and a tight smile I’d caught glimpses of from Mom’s backyard. Her brow wrinkled, and she tucked a lock of hair behind her left ear as she perused me.
“And I have slippers,” she answered, motioning to her feet and lifting one leg to wiggle her toes.
“Right… What?” I shifted from foot to foot, looking between her purple slippers and the dimples on her cheeks as she failed to suppress a smile. One side of her mouth lifted, then the other, and I had to fight the instinct to smile back because she looked damned adorable in her tight little shorts and slippers.
“I thought we were pointing out things we have. You apparently have cinnamon rolls—which is rather rude, by the way, to just point those out and not share—while I have slippers. I’d be happy to share the slippers, but the boots you’re wearingare huge, and I’d rather you not destroy these. They’re my favorite pair.”
“Why are you telling me about your slippers?”
The petite thing huffed, put one hand on her hip, and used the other to open the door a fraction wider.
“Because your idea of starting a conversation was to declare that you have cinnamon and sugar all wrapped up in a gooey pastry. Not being partial to your train of thought, mine went in another direction.”
“Summer? Damn it all to hell. I can’t stand without that blasted pillow!” a voice hollered from inside the house, and I jumped at the loud, harsh sounds, watching as Summer closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest.
“Unus, duo, tres,” she said, counting her breaths as she spoke.
The breathing technique was easy enough to pick up on, but the words weren’t right—or at least not in a language I recognized. It sounded a bit like Spanish, and she finished the quiet mantra before I could muck up the strength to form more than a one-word response.
“Well, this has been a fascinating and enlightening conversation, whoever you are with the cinnamon rolls, but there is a pressing matter that needs my attention inside. Toodles.”
The screen door closed with a soft click, and I sighed and turned on my heel before remembering the damn glass container clutched in my hands.
Please be locked.
Just let me get out of here and back to Mom’s to deal with the new puppies.
My thoughts were ignored by some higher power as I wrapped my fingers around the handle and pulled. The screen door opened, and I winced, taking a step inside as the yelling got louder.
“This is rubbish. It has been ten damn days, and I still can’t stand up without wincing. What’s the point of you living here if you don’t help me?” Cam’s angry voice came from farther inside.
I shuffled closer, not wanting to startle them, but not liking how he spoke to the pretty girl in purple.
“I know, Dad, but if you keep pushing yourself, it will only hinder your progress. Perhaps now you’ll consider moving to the downstairs bedroom?”
“Never. I will not be banished from my room by one silly operation.”
Daughter?That would explain the anger. I knew firsthand that you could be cruelest to the ones you loved the most.
“Silly operation? You’re infuriating. You know that, right? You had your chest cracked open. I am here for you, but I will not stand by if you insist on being so careless. Do you ever intend to play golf again? Or chess? Would you like to be able to take a shower without me hovering outside the door?”
“Fine. Fine. Point taken. Help me to the chair then. And I want a cup of coffee.”
