Page 90 of Finding Storm

And I actually die on the spot.

Fucking. Die.

Pen bursts out laughing. Same goes for me.

Screw keeping our voices down. I can’t hold anything in after hearing that.

“Christ almighty, Gran!” I gasp, holding my stomach with my hand.

“Just saying.” Gran grins before chopping the strawberries, setting me and Pen off again.

When my laughter calms, I try again. “Okay, so we agree to say nothing. We do not call him Storm—or Daddy.” I snort. “We call him Nick. The guy has had a rough time. His private business is all over the news. He clearly wants privacy. So, privacy is what we’ll give him.”

“So, basically, what you’re saying is that I can’t tell one single person that Storm Slater is here in town and staying at the B&B?” Pen looks less than impressed.

“In a nutshell.” I nod.

“You’re killin’ me, Smalls. This is the news of the century.”

“I know. But think about it. If people find out that he’s here, journalists will turn up, he’ll get harassed, and he’ll have to leave. He leaves, and you won’t be able to fangirl over him.”

“Well, it’s not like I can fangirl over him because I’m not allowed to let on that I know who he really is.” She folds her arms over her chest, lips pouting.

And that’s when I know I have her. She’ll keep quiet.

And me asking this of her has absolutely nothing to do with me not wanting him to leave.

Nope.

Okay, maybe a little.

But, mostly, it’s for his benefit.

“Thanks, Pen. I appreciate it.”

She shoots me an unhappy look. “Fine. But I’m only keeping quiet ’cause I love you.”

“I know. Love you too.” I turn to Gran, who’s just finished placing the strawberries on the waffles. “Gran, I can count on you not to say anything, right?”

“Of course.” She smiles, picking up Storm’s plate.

For a woman who loves her gossip, she’s a damn good secret-keeper when necessary.

“You want to take this through?” she asks me.

“Sure.” I take the plate from her and pick up his coffee.

Moving through the kitchen, I fix Pen with a stare. “Stay,” I tell her.

I push the door open with my hip, and there he is, still sitting at the table, reading the Sports section Dad left there earlier.

Nick. But not Nick.

“Hey. Sorry it took a while.”

He glances up at me and smiles.

That smile hits me square in the chest.