His nose wrinkles in annoyance. “Whatever. I’m pretty sure both jack it to Jesus.”
Alright, that's enough.
Shoving the box into his chest, I easily send him stumbling back. His fault for not moving; the idiot knows I’ve got a minimum of fifty pounds on him.
Stomping through the foyer into an unnecessary sitting areawith chairs fit for grannies and toddlers, I drop the box on the scuffed wood floor.Rustic flooring, Seba.Seemingly overnight, Mom became an interior design expert. The place came fully furnished and decorated in what she informed me was ‘cottage core.’ In other words, a dollhouse inspired by Old Florida magazines.
“That clearly says ‘Kitchen’ on it.”
Apparently, plowing through Cade like a practice dummy didn’t convince him to fuck off.
“Declan said to just bring everything in. We can organize later.” I sigh, pushing sweat off my forehead.
“Do you do everything you’re told?”
I shoulder past him when I'm hit with the lingering hint of cigarette smoke mixed with something…sweet. My nose twitches. I pick up the pace, striding on a mission to the front door?—
Where a man stands haloed in the doorway.
The setting sun’s rays illuminate his figure like a saint in a historical painting. He takes a purposeful step over the threshold, shadows dripping away to reveal a charismatic half-smile and lines crinkling the corners of dark brown eyes.
“Hello there, son, didn’t mean to startle you,” he chuckles, hooking a thumb to the right. “I live next door.”Where the girl in the window lives.“Simply wanted to introduce myself. The name’s William Sinclair.”
He extends a hand.
I go to shake it?—
“Is it normal here for neighbors to walk into each other's houses?”
Fucking. Cade.
Sinclair’s head snaps to my stepbrother. His smile falters before morphing into a sheepish grin.
“Apologies. I’ve known the Sutherlands for years and was under the impression that one of their children took over the house. It was wrong of me to assume.”
The line between Cade’s brows deepens, but he doesn’t spewanother snarky comment. Instead, he cranes his neck and hollers at the top of his lungs, “Dad! Some guy is here!”
I inhale slowly and close my eyes.
Dear Lord, give me the grace not to chop my new stepbrother’s throat the first day we live under the same roof.
When I open them, I’m met with a scrutinizing gaze. Sinclair’s lip twitches as if he heard me. A trick of the light.
Then he winks.
My jaw goes slack. There’s no way…
Footsteps descend the stairs.
“Ah, you must be Pastor Sinclair!” Declan exclaims. “My Aunt and Uncle mentioned you might stop by.”
Pastor.
As the leader of the church.
All pleasant introductions and conversations fade into background noise.
Had he heard my prayer after all?
