“Your father is incredibly talented.”
She poured a glass of milk. Then held the jug as if to ask me.
I nodded.
“You know he’s really my uncle, right?”
“He considers you his child. Never doubt that.” I could say this with absolute certainty. I knew Anderson. Had always known him. Hopefully still did.
“I know.” She opened another cupboard and grabbed three plates. “I assume Dad’s joining us? Or were you sneaking around?”
I laughed. “I was going to take him some in bed. Seemed the considerate thing to do.”
She waved me. “Don’t let me interfere. I’ll take my third and head upstairs with my milk.” She pursed her lips. “Are you going to be here in the morning?”
“I hadn’t thought that far.” Well, I had—but I didn’t want to be presumptuous. Mila was taking care of my goats—I could afford to stay overnight.
“I can make myself scarce in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Anderson wandered into the kitchen, wearing a bathrobe. He gave me a glance that was a cross between panic and relief.
Probably panic that Adele was home and relief I wasn’t totally naked.
He pulled her into an embrace. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Paget’s sick.”
His gaze sharpened. “And you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I wouldn’t have driven home if I wasn’t feeling fine.”
Still, he pressed a hand to her forehead.
I suppressed the longing. Such a simple gesture—parent to child. Witnessing it sort of stole my breath.
She swatted his hand away.
This close, I was able to see she actually had several inches on him. Since he wasn’t all that short, she was quite tall.
“Let’s eat the cake before it cools and I have to heat it up again.” Because standing here talking with me in just my jeans, with my smattering of chest hair, wasn’t weird at all.
Anderson’s eyes lit. “Yes, please.”
Adele sat on a chair with a leg tucked under her.
Her father opened the cutlery drawer. He handed me a knife and put three forks on the table.
Our gazes met.
I read gentle compassion. Mixed with a bit of gratitude. I sat and proceeded to cut the cake into three equal pieces. The cake wasn’t actually that large and split three ways made it even less—but it would satisfy my craving for chocolate. Something that often happened after sex.
Which I was quite certain Anderson remembered.
Adele sank her fork into the concoction—crispy on the outside with gooey warm melted chocolate in the middle. “Okay, so Uncle Damien said you were ‘old friends’.” She used air quotes.
Again, my gaze sought Anderson. His daughter appeared pretty sharp—she’d figured out what we’d been doing. I’d answered her question earlier—but evasively. Clearly she wasn’t going to let that rest.
“We were lovers.” Anderson pressed his knee against mine under the table. “And I hurt him.”
