Page 54 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"Yup." I lean against the counter opposite her, pouring us more tea.

"I love banana bread," she says, almost to herself.

"Yeah, I know, you used to pick it for your birthday cake flavour. I mean who picks that?" I laugh, remembering how much we used to tease her about it.

Her eyes grow soft and sad. "Dad used to make the best banana bread. It was⁠—"

"Chai flavoured," I finish for her, with a little nod. "He used to make it for us too. He brought one to give my driving teacher when I passed my driving test."

She laughs. "She deserved it! That lady must've been a saint, you always were a terrible driver."

I jab her with a fork. "I was not terrible, I just have different ideas of who has right of way."

She brushes the fork away, eyes still sparkling, obviously thinking of her dad.

To distract her, I push the banana bread to her. "How was your day?" I ask her, as I have every night we've done this.

"Um, it was okay. Goody bits. Less goody bits."

"Yeah?" I try not to push. Although I would sit here and listen to her recount her entire day second by second if she wanted.

She nods, as if consulting with herself, and then smiles. "Yeah. I'm starting to really get into a rhythm. And I don't feel like the 'newbie' too much, anymore."

"Well, yeah, you're not having to ask where the toilets are every few minutes."

"Right!" she laughs gently.

"What about you?" She turns it back on me before I can try again. "You...look kinda tired."

I drop my jaw dramatically. "And to think I brought you tea and dessert."

"Right. 'Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen,'" she recites. "Imagine what you'd bring me if I said you smell too."

I don't know if she realises what she just said, but I don't point it out — just grab the cake box out of her reach. She protests.

"I'm sorry! You smell like a field of flowers and have the complexion of a baby bathed in aloe vera."

I give a satisfied grunt and then turn the cake box around. She forks a piece and holds it up. "Trade you a piece for you telling me why you...look like you do tonight. I've seen you come home after a bar shift for two weeks now, and you haven't looked this haggard yet."

"Oh, so now I'm 'haggard'?" I snatch the piece of cake out of her hand before she can take it back. But then she grabs the whole box.

She grins and holds it against her. "Tell you what. Worst week wins the last bite."

"How very Notting Hill of you."

Her whole face lights up. "Ooh, you get a bonus point for getting the reference."

"Please. A baby-faced Hugh Bonneville making a fool of himself? One of my favourite movie dinner scenes ever."

"Well, well, Mr Wren. I think you might be revealing some layers I've yet to see in you."

I grin and tip my head. "Ladies first."

"Damn right." She sets the cake box down and then rubs her hands together like she's settling in to argue a case. "Sixteen hours in a car that can't be relied upon to start unless sweet talked to. Only to find out halfway that the place I was supposed to stay, the house in which I grew up, and where I said goodbye to the man who taught me how to read, and how to hold a spoon, has been sold, and then, after being promised my brother's house for a week, I am ambushed by his best friends, while I'm in a towel!"

The further along she gets in the details, the more we both dissolve into laughter.

"Don't forget the smooshed banana gun!" I say in a loud whisper.