I ignore the last comment in favor of the first. “He likes music.”
“He likes you more.” She sighs. “I’m going to your apartment to change into something else so I can fix this.”
It’s not the first time she’s worn something of mine, so I point to the drawer behind the counter. “My keys are in there.”
“I’ll do your dishes while I’m up there.”
I wince. “How do you know I didn’t load the dishwasher this morning?”
Shaking her head, she giggles. “Because I know you. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
She scoops up the keys and her tote bag before she takes one last bite of the bagel. “Call me if Hot Dad shows up because I want a good look at him.”
I nod even though I won’t do that. Besides, I have no idea if or when I’ll see Berk Morgan again.
Chapter Seventeen
Berk
“It’s a party!” Stevie declares as she spins in a circle to show off the white lace dress she has on.
“It’s not a party,” I gently correct her. “It’s just a few family members stopping by for dinner.”
My brother, Keats, walks into the kitchen holding a small rectangular box.
I can always rely on my younger brother to show up at my place unannounced with something in his hand for my daughter.
Keats lives three blocks away with his wife, Maren, and their son, Weber. He has a key to my townhouse. He uses it much more frequently than I use the key to his home.
Stevie rushes over to jump into his arms.
It’s been their standard way of greeting one another since she was able to walk.
“How was San Diego?” she asks as he places her back down on the floor.
My brother is a sports agent. He runs his company Morgan Sports Management with his wife. Although he’s been traveling less since his son was born, he can’t cut travel out altogether.
This latest trip took all three of them out west to negotiate for a client who is set to join a team based in California. They fit in a few days for some sun and fun on the beach with my folks. My mom and dad are currently hanging out on the west coast to catch up with friends. They’ll be back in Manhattan in a month or two.
“Good,” he answers. “This thing with Dallas looks like it’s getting serious. That’s a nice wedding dress you have on.”
Her hands drop to her hips. “Keats, I’m nine. I told you that I’m not getting married until I’m thirty.”
“I recall.” He works to hold in a smile. “What’s with the fancy dress?”
I’m about to interrupt to ask why the hell my brother knows more about this Dallas kid than I do when Stevie clears her throat.
“What’s with the scuff marks on your shoes?” She points at his feet. “What did I tell you about shining your shoes?”
I turn away from them to hide the smile on my face.
Their banter has always been on a level I’ve never shared with my daughter. I’ve never been jealous of her relationship with my brother. I’ve only been grateful for it.
He helped me raise her when Layna passed.
Keats was there at every turn with meals to feed us or a shoulder to cry on.
“The shoes aren’t that bad,” he counters.
“They are that bad,” she says. “I’ll shine them for you with the polish Daddy keeps in his closet if you tell me what’s in…”
I turn back to face them just in time to catch my brother handing the gift box to Stevie. “Auntie Maren picked this out for you in San Diego.”
Stevie gazes up at him. “Thank you, Keats.”
“Open the damn thing.”
Her finger shoots up into the air. “You swore. You owe a hundred to the fund.”
He nods. “I’ll add it to my monthly total.”
“You swore other times?” Her voice is laced with exasperation. “Keats, you know the rules.”
“I know.” He raises both hands as if he’s surrendering to her. “I’m trying my best.”
Her brows pinch together. “Should I wait for Auntie Maren to get here before I open this?”
He shakes his head. “Rip it open.”
She does just that.
Pink paper and white ribbon land on the floor before she snaps open the cover of the box to reveal a necklace.
“Oh, Keats,” she whispers with a slight tremor in her voice. “This is so beautiful.”
I step around the kitchen island to get a better look.
It’s a gold chain with a dolphin pendant.
I toss my brother a knowing glance, and a silent thank you.
He nods.
“I’ll wear it every day,” Stevie says as she races a fingertip over the pendant. “It’s my favorite thing ever.”
“You need to be careful with it.” I gaze down at her. “You don’t want to lose it.”
Her head snaps in Keats’s direction. “Dad’s worried because I lost my diary key. He had to find a pretty singer to get it back from her. Astrid Rehn is her name.”