“Oh, I was thinking the chest of drawers could go there,” I say, pointing to the wall opposite the window. “With that mirror hanging above it.”
I found a beautiful antique mirror that resembles the one from Snow White at the second-hand furniture store in Beckford, and I know Tinsley will adore it.
“The bed will go in the corner there, and the bookshelves over there.”
“Too easy,” Everett says, nodding.
The room feels way too small with two giant men in it, and I inch my way to the door.
“You two seem like you have this under control,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “I’m going to bake her cake before I have to pick her up.”
I escape the room, stopping just outside the door to catch my breath.
From inside, I hear Blake’s hushed whisper. “Dude,that’syour stepmum?”
A smile tugs at my lips, but it quickly fades when Everett snaps, “Don’t go there.”
I rush into the kitchen, not needing to hear anything else. Grabbing the ingredients, I whip up a gluten-free and dairy-free vanilla cake and put it in the oven. While it’s baking, I shower and freshen up before having to go pick up Tinsley.
Admittedly, I may have put a little extra care into my make-up—although I don’t have time to blow out my hair, so I brush it into a high ponytail—but only because it’s a special occasion for my daughter. It has nothing to do with the hot as hell guy in his mid-twenties currently coming to my rescue with my daughter’s brother.
When the oven timer goes off, I take the cake out, leaving it to cool. I need to leave in ten minutes to get Tinsley, so I head back to her bedroom to check on the progress.
“Wow,” I say, my eyes widening as I step into the room. The guys have placed all the furniture exactly where I wanted it, and Everett is making the bed with Tinsley’s new sheets, while Blake finishes hanging the mirror.
They’ve both stripped down to their t-shirts, and I notice Blake has ink down one of his arms, but before I can get a good look at it, Everett interrupts.
“I know it’s her birthday, and you’ve probably got special plans for the two of you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “but do you think it would be okay if we hung around while you get her, so I can say happy birthday? I haven’t got her present yet. I was planning on giving it to her at her party on Sunday, but?—”
“She’d love that,” I say, shooting him a warm smile. “Everett, you never have to ask to see your sister. You’re always welcome.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles, ducking his head.
I hesitate before adding, “You’re both welcome to stay for dinner if you like. I’m making Tinsley’s favourite French dish—ratatouille. It’s the least I can do considering you saved her birthday from being an absolute disaster.”
“It wouldn’t have been a disaster. You’re doing a good job with her, Juliet. She’s lucky to have a mother like you.”
His unspoken words about his own mother, who walked out on him when he wasn’t much older than Tinsley, hover awkwardly in the air.
“We can’t stay. Thanks, though. I’ve got plans with Emily tonight.”
“No worries. I’ll make it up to you another time.”
I catch Blake watching our interaction in the mirror, a thoughtful look on his face, but I don’t have time to analyse it. I need to leave now so I’m not late to get Tinsley.
“We’ll be back soon. Make yourselves comfortable. There are cold drinks in the fridge and food in the cupboards. Thank you again so much for saving me. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Blake says.
Tinsley isa ball of energy when I pick her up, rambling about her day on the drive home. I don’t bother telling her Everett’s waiting for her at home; it will be another nice surprise for her.
The guys are sitting on the couch watching televisionwhen we walk in, and Tinsley lets out a shriek of excitement as she launches herself at her brother.
“Happy birthday, pipsqueak,” he says with a laugh, squeezing her tight.
“Happy birthday, Sprout,” Blake adds, holding his fist out to her, which she bumps with her own. It’s so darn cute, and I hate the way my stomach flips at the simple gesture.
“Thanks,” she says, then turns her attention to me expectantly. “Where’s my surprise?”
