Their reception at Zane’s wasn’t quite as idyllic. The enormous box of treats Zane bore was well received, and so were the lattes that Skylar passed out to Maureen and her granddad. The rest of it? More of a mixed bag.
First, there was the usual greeting frenzy by Zane’s kids, including Scarlett and Duncan wanting to discuss the match. Skylar’s own kids, other than George, who was still young enough to be glad to see her, were more along the lines of, “Hi, Mum.” But then, shewasreliably present in their lives. Extremely so. There was a song she’d heard once called, “How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away?” That pretty much summed it up. But then, the nature of stable parenting was that your kidscouldtake you for granted. So she left Zane to his ecstatic welcome, went into the kitchen, and started cracking and scrambling eggs, and eventually, Zane made it in there with his box.
“I usually cut them in pieces,” he said. “That work for you?”
“Sure. Do whatever you normally do. Ten of us here, which means I’m going to be using all your eggs. Cream cheese and dill in them OK?”
“Brilliant. I just scramble them with salt and pepper when it’s my turn.”
“Lazy,” she said, then laughed, because he so wasn’t. An oversized frying pan and sauté pan from the cupboard—the quality of his kitchen equipment had to be due to Maureen—and the warming oven turned on. Her fourth time cooking in this kitchen, and she was going to enjoy it.
Scarlett, Georgia, George, and Finlay wandered into the kitchen first. Skylar waited for Zane to tell one of his kids to lay the table, and when he didn’t, she said, “Scarlett, would you and Finlay find a tablecloth, please? And then get down plates and forks and set them out.”
“I don’t think we have enough plates,” Scarlett said. “Some of them are in the dishwasher.” She was looking at Skylar squinty-eyed. Why? Besides the obvious reason, of course. That she’d spent the night with Scarlett’s father, and they hadn’t even tried to hide it.
“Then get them out and wash them, please,” Skylar said.
“How come you’re in charge?” Scarlett asked.
“Because we’re doing this together,” Zane said. “Producing special Sunday breakfast that’ll be better than mine. And we need your help. Lay the table. You and Finlay both.”
Scarlett sighed.“Fine.I’ll get the tablecloth. You wash the plates, Finlay.”
“Why do I have to do it?” he said.
“Oh, for—” Skylar said. “Just do it, Finlay. Nobody’s asking you to climb a mountain here.” She could have done it faster by herself, but she was refusing on principle. Also getting down a couple of bowls and filling one with mandarins and the other with grapes while she tried to pretend that the platter Zane was filling with almond and chocolate croissants, plum and cherry pastries with sweet cheese, espresso and date scones, and various other extravagances represented any part of a healthy breakfast.
She was going to try both kinds of croissants, personally. Zane may have done nearly all the work both last night and this morning, but she’d had five orgasms! Surely that would burn off half a croissant. And possibly a bit of plum pastry, too.
All right, she was probably going to inhale every treat she got her hands on. A woman neededsomeindulgences, and she was making up for lost time.
George said, “If we had stools to stand on, Georgia and me could wash the plates. We can get the forks, though. And we should get out napkins, Mum, because you always say licking your fingers is rude, even though it tastes good.”
“You do that, love,” Skylar said. “Thank you.”
“Your outfit is very pretty, Ms. Fairburn,” Georgia said.
Scarlett sighed. “Skylar. You’re supposed to call her Skylar now.”
“I forgot,” Georgia said.
Finlay pulled four dirty plates—four! Oh, the humanity!—out of the dishwasher and said, “Really? You think her clothes are pretty? Kind of weird, I thought.”
“Obviously,” Scarlett muttered, from where she was fossicking about in the linens cabinet for tablecloths and napkins.
Zane turned that hard look on Scarlett again. “Pardon?” he asked. Not nicely, either.
“Finlay,” Skylar said, “you gave me your opinion yesterday. You don’t need to give it to me again. Although, as it happens, these clothes aren’t my favorites, either.”
Oh, how Scarlett wanted to agree. It was written all over her face. “Good on you for not jumping in,” Skylar told her.
“I wanted to,” she said. “But Dad would yell again.”
Skylar laughed. “Well, whatever the reason, self-restraint is a very mature quality. Your dad didn’t like this outfit either, and neither do I. I got peer pressured into buying it, is what happened. Pretty funny, eh. I’m thirty-two years old, I have three kids, and here I am, succumbing to peer pressure.” Life lessons were always good.
“What’s that?” Georgia asked. She’d come close enough for Skylar to put an arm around, so Skylar did. Georgia leaned her face against Skylar’s hip, which made this some of that promised cuddle time. Since Skylar loved cuddles with little kids who actually still wanted them, that worked for her.
“It means other kids pressure you to do something you may not want to do,” Finlay said. He was scrubbing plates with the dish brush, which was progress. “They talk about it in Health class all the time, but mostly they mean alcohol and sex and things. I didn’t think it meant clothes.”
