“A family one.” He was silent for a long time after that, and I figured he’d decided that was enough of an answer—even though it was no answer at all. But then he laced his fingers with mine and let out a breath. “I’m searching for my sister, Neve.”
I turned in his hold to face him, confused. “What do you mean—‘searching’? Did she run off?”
I couldn’t see him well in the dark, but I felt the tension in his muscles. “No, angel, she was taken—a very long time ago. Has been missing since I was ten.”
“Oh my God.” The weight of the words landed solidly on my chest, pressing down. “I’m so sorry.”
He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “It’s okay. I’ve lived with that knowledge for a very long time. I just got my hopes up tonight that we’d have a breakthrough in the case, and the informant backed out. I should’ve known it’d be a dead end. They always are.”
“Oh, Foster,” I said, my heart breaking at the hopelessness underlining his tone.
“Shh,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m just sorry that I took my frustration out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay, I—”
He put his fingertips over my lips. “No, it’s not. But let’s not get into it now. It’s late, and you need to get some rest.”
I let my head sink back into the pillow, and he turned me to spoon again.
His embrace was comforting, the bed warm. But it was a long time before I was able to fall asleep.
I could handle mysterious, sexy neighbor Foster.
And funny, texting Foster.
Even intimidating, kinky Foster.
Those are guys I could write off as fun fling candidates.
But I had no idea how to handle this man. This man with vulnerabilities and wounds and history. A man who hadn’t given up on finding a sister who’d been gone for more than twenty years. I didn’t need to know these things about him. The more I learned, the more this mattered. The more he mattered. And the harder it was going to be when I left.
Maybe Foster had been right all along.
We had to end this.
Because as I lay there, listening to him breathing, I found myself wanting it to be real, wanting to be his.
—
“What the hell are you doing, man?”
Foster glanced over his shoulder at Pike, who’d plunked down at the breakfast bar, the new dog sniffing at his feet. Foster couldn’t even tackle that turn of events yet. Pike taking on the responsibility of a dog. The mind boggled. “I’m making pancakes. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“And what the fuck was that last night?”
Foster sighed, keeping his back to Pike as he waited for bubbles to appear in the batter he’d ladled onto the griddle pan. Bette, the housekeeper who’d taken care of him for much of his life, had told him never to flip a pancake until there were bubbles. “Sorry I jumped your shit. Yesterday . . . sucked, and well, I was already in a bad place when I came home.”
“Dude, I’m over that. You’re a possessive asshole. Not breaking news. But I’m talking about what you did with her. What happened to leaving the vanilla girl who’s moving away alone? Now you’re making her pancakes? You don’t cook breakfast for anybody.”
Foster flipped the pancake with a little more vigor than necessary. “Last night wasn’t planned. I gave her the chance to leave. She didn’t.”
“Ah hell, don’t do this to yourself.”
Foster turned to give Pike a narrow look. “Do what? Sleep with her? It’s not like it hadn’t happened before.”
Pike took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t give me that shit. You didn’t just fuck her, and you know it. You’re getting attached. It’s written all over you. You’re making fucking pancakes, for God’s sake.”
“It’s just a pancake,” he said a little too loudly, holding the spatula out to the side. Batter dripped to the floor, and the dog scrambled to take care of it. “I’m well aware she’s leaving. I’m not attached.”