“I thought we’d gotten past calling me a kid.”
Red understood what hedidn’tsay, but ‘boy’ was a step too far, even if it did slip out occasionally.
He sat up and put his feet on the warm floor. Underfloor heating was a wonderful thing. From what he’d confided over their game of pool, Mo had built this cabin himself. Before Joseph had come into his life, he was semi-retired. Now he had a billionaire boy and managed two safe houses, with plans for another one close by. Hell, he’d have a whole complex if he kept building.
Mo might have grumbled he should have stayed retired, but one look at his face when he held Joseph in his arms, told Red he didn’t mean a word of it.
“I’ll make coffee,” he said.
“And check all the windows and doors,” Kit teased.
“That too,” Red agreed. It would take more than gentle teasing about his habits to get a rise out of him.
He shuffled out of the bedroom, took one perimeter walk around the inside of the cabin, and headed into the bathroom.
“Hey, I was going there,” Kit yelled.
“I got there first.”
He heard Kit’s disgusted grunt and grinned.
Five minutes later, Kit was shut away in the bathroom, after Red had declined the offer of washing Kit’s back and anything else he wanted to. Red took the time to get dressed, then went into the kitchen to make coffee.
That was easier said than done as he glared at the coffee machine, arms folded, staring down at the appliance as if it had personally offended him. The thing was a sleek monstrosity of chrome and blinking lights, all touch panels and tiny symbols that meant absolutely nothing. He’d dealt with non-compliant clients and attempted kidnappings with less confusion.
Red jabbed a button. The machine beeped at him in a tone that felt smug.
“Don’t start,” he muttered.
He leaned closer, squinting at the display. Strength he had. Patience too, most days. But whatever idiot had designed this thing clearly assumed the user came equipped with a degree in computer science and a fondness for unnecessary menus.
For a split second, he considered waiting for Kit to come out and do it. The boy would smirk, make some crack about Red being ancient, probably take over with infuriating ease.
Not happening. Red was thirty-six, not eighty-six. He work out how to use a damn machine.
Red straightened, rolled his shoulders, and tried again—this time slower, reading every prompt like it was a threat assessment. He pressed one button. Then another. The machine whirred, paused, and finally began to grind.
Red watched it like it might change its mind.
A moment later, the blessed sound of brewing filled the kitchen. Dark liquid streamed into the carafe, rich and promising.
Red let out a quiet breath of victory. If Kit hadn’t been here, he would have done a victory dance.
By the time Kit emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and cheeks flushed from the heat, Red had two cups on the counter and an expression that said this had all gone exactly according to plan.
No way was he admitting that the coffeemaker had almost beaten him.
“I had a bet you wouldn’t be able to start the machine,” Kit said, sounding amused.
“I nearly didn’t,” Red admitted sheepishly.
“I’ve got a similar one in my condo.”
Of course he had.
“I never use it,” Kit confessed. “It’s quicker to go to the coffee shop and the coffee’s better than I buy.”
Red felt marginally better. He had a feeling Joseph had provided this machine. Maybe he could ask Mo for something less like the inside of an airplane cockpit.
