Page 28 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

Finally, Rhys pushes off the doorframe.

He walks toward me, hands in his pockets, eyes still trained on mine, until he's right there, next to me in the narrow hallway, his shoulder brushing mine. Then he leans over, slow and deliberate, and quietly murmurs, "Goodnight, Alexi."

And then he keeps walking to the kitchen, never looking back.

I stand alone in the hallway, my hand pressed to my throat, feeling my pulse race.

I listen to him move around the kitchen before I shake myself out of my thoughts and return to my room.

In the dark, staring at the ceiling, I think about the service elevator behind the Napier Building, and the Tim Tams, and the way Zachary made me laugh when I wasn't expecting it, and the way Rhys said my name, the way his shoulder felt against mine.

And I don't sleep for a very long time.

Marcus is back at the stove in the morning. This time he's not arguing about the eggs, he's arguing with them. At least, that's what it looks like from the kitchen entryway, as he shakes a finger at the simmering pot, saying things like "Don't make me tell your mum that you didn't behave," and "Do you want to fulfil your destiny as a breakfast food or not?"

It still takes me a while to adjust to seeing him. Walking into a room and just having him be...there. He's dressed much the same as he was yesterday. Faded, worn jeans, but today he's wearing a sage green tee that stretches taut across the muscles of his back as he bends over the oven, pulling out a tray with a pair of oven mitts.

"Morning," I say. It comes out a little quiet. Shy. I wonder if I'll ever feel like I did when I was used to seeing them in my house all the time, like they were just a part of the furniture of the Riley house.

"Hey!" Marcus says as he spins around, tray still in hand.

It's not until then that I see what he's wearing over his work outfit — a frilly magenta apron emblazoned with the words Girls Just Wanna Have Brunch.

I stare at him as he puts the tray down on the marble island. Finally, my shock gives way to pure delight and I let out a guffaw. I point at his apron with one hand, the other covering my mouth.

He frowns, looks down at his front, then places his hands on his hips, striking a pose, bottom lip stuck out.

"And just what do you think is so funny?"

I swallow the laugh and try to straighten my face. "Oh, um, funny? Nothing. I just...I mean that magenta really brings out the colour of your...tan line." Another laugh slips out.

"Well, I never!" he shrieks in a high-pitched voice and throws an oven mitt at me in mock offence. I squeal and dodge to the side just as Rhys walks into the kitchen and is gifted a flying oven mitt straight to his face.

I shoot a look at Marcus, who in turn is looking at me, both of us wearing what can only be described as an "oh shit" expression, quickly morphing into a combination of "we're royally fucked" and "this is the funniest thing that's happened in ages and I don't think I can hold it in".

Rhys, on the other hand, looks anything but impressed.

He looks down at the oven mitt, then back up at both of us in turn.

"It's his fault!" I yell at exactly the same time as Marcus points at me and out-right lies, yelling, "She told me to!"

Rhys just bends over, picks up the oven mitt and lays it on the kitchen island, then runs a hand over his hair, smoothing it back into place. Then he sits down without a word, pulling the newspaper from its plastic wrapping and ignoring the both of us.

I flick a glance at Marcus and he just shrugs and goes back to making breakfast.

"How do you like your coffee, Lexi?" Marcus asks. And I can't help but note that I almost don't react. I'm becoming used to hearing my old nicknames.

That...is not good. Between Zachary last night over tea, and Rhys in the hallway, the way he'd practically whispered it into my ear, they're dismantling every brick I laid to put between me and them.

"Um, no, no coffee for me, thanks," I say.

"Okay. Juice? Eggs?"

"Er, no, I'm good. I might grab something at the staff room."

Marcus spins around, all the humour of a minute ago gone. "You have to have something. I'm not kidding. I let you run out yesterday after just a bite of toast because it was your first day and I didn't want you to be late. But you need breakfast."

"But I'm not hungry," I protest.