A familiar scent fills my nose. “French toast?”
She grins. “I’d have let you help me, but you slept half the morning. Your plate’s in the microwave.”
I turn, eager to get to my favorite breakfast when the front door flies open.
“Look who decided to join us.” Gran scoffs, returning her eyes to the newspaper.
“I brought you something,” my brother coos, his footsteps growing closer to the kitchen. He sounds more like my brother.
Without glancing up at him, she says, “You can’t bribe me, Shane. You owe your sister an apology.”
“Oh, come on, Gran. I’m sorry.” He appears beside her, laying a few scratch-off tickets on the table.
She gives him an unimpressed look but slides the tickets into the pocket of her gray housecoat before gesturing toward me.
He glances to where I’m standing at the microwave. A mischievous grin brightens his face. “Ash…”
The way he draws out my name, I know what’s coming. Pointing my finger at him, I back up until my butt hits the counter. “No. Don’t even think about it!”
He keeps grinning that creepy little grin and lunges at me before I can get away, wrapping an arm around my neck and ruffling my curls.
“Goddamn it, Shane! Let go of me!” I flail.
“Are you gonna forgive me?”
“Are you gonna say sorry?”
He sighs but doesn’t let me out of the headlock. “I’m sorry. Time got away from me.”
“You’re such an asshole. Apology not accepted.” I jab my finger into his ribs, which are much easier to feel these days, and he lets go, grabbing his side.
“Ow!”
“Serves you right!”
“Come on, how long are you gonna be pissed?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe forever.”
A laugh rumbles his chest. “Yeah, okay. What’s it gonna take? You want a scratcher too?”
I hate that he knows I’m terrible at holding a grudge. He tries to pull me into a hug.
Shoving off him, I step back. “No, Shane. I want to spend the summer with my brother, but no one seems to know where he went. Instead, we have whoever this loser is in his place.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt your feelings? Good, it was supposed to.” I pull my breakfast from the microwave and push past him to sit at the table.
“Ash, I’m sorry. I promise we’ll hang out. I just have a lot of shit on my plate right now.”
I roll my eyes, and he plops down in the chair between Gran and me.
“Jesus, you’re as bad as Gran.” He tries to snatch a piece of French toast from my plate.
Gran swats the back of his hand. “No, we just love you. If you want us to be nice to you, grow the hell up.”
His playful demeanor dissipates. “I know. I’m working on it.”
