“Yeah, but don’t tell him that. We try to keep his ego in check.”
She heard the love and pride in his voice and envied the close relationship the brothers had. Her brother lived in the Netherlands with his Dutch girlfriend. She called him on his birthday, and he called her on hers, and they talked on Christmas Day. He kept inviting her to come see him, and someday, she would.
Her sister...well, Lindy was all about Lindy. She’d married an older man with more than enough money to keep her in Louboutin shoes, two-thousand-dollar Saint Laurent handbags, and designer dresses. But Lindy was happy, so who was she to judge?
Skye was the youngest, and the day after she left for college, her parents put their house up for sale, bought an RV, and didn’t even bother waving goodbye. She communicated with them via Facebook now and then, and if it wasn’t for social media, she probably wouldn’t know where they were on any given day.
Tristan, still holding her hand, led her to the kitchen, and holy cheese balls, what a kitchen it was. It was almost as big as her one-bedroom apartment, and her head swiveled as she tried to take it all in. The most beautiful granite she’d ever seen covered the counters and a long island.
She set the bakery box down, then pulled her hand away from Tristan’s and swept her palm over the cool stone. “This is gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it.” The blues, grays, and whites in the granite made her think of the ocean on a stormy day. The cabinets were white and the backsplash the same blue as in the granite. The appliances were all oversize stainless steel. A large window over the sink had a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains rising in the distance.
“We remodeled when Parker got his first big paycheck. It was still the original kitchen from when the house was built and sorely needed a facelift.” He set the wine down next to her bakery box.
“You and your brothers have lived here all your life?”
Something flashed in his eyes. Pain? Sadness? “No.” He turned away, going to the counter behind him, and opening a drawer. “Let’s open your wine.”
“Miss Skylar, I painted Jellybean. Do you want to see?”
Skye smiled at the loud little girl running toward her. Parker followed his daughter into the kitchen, grinning at seeing Skye. “Use your quiet voice, Ev. You don’t want to hurt Miss Skylar’s ears.” He walked to her and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to our home, Skylar.”
“Thank you,” she said as she glanced at Tristan, who was looking back at her with soft eyes. Her stomach somersaulted.
She was so in trouble with this man. Yes, she was.
Chapter Thirteen
“We’ll eat in the solarium.” Tristan opened the wine Skye had brought, then handed it to Parker. “Take this out to the table.”
Everly hopped to Skye. “Will you sit next to me, Miss Skylar?”
She smiled at his niece. “I would love to.”
“If you want Miss Skylar to sit next to you, you have to promise to use your soft voice,” Parker said over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen.
“I can do that,” she yelled.
Skye glanced at him, and Tristan grinned at her effort not to laugh. He really liked how she treated Everly. Inviting her to dinner tonight was turning out to be a brilliant idea. She was more relaxed around him than she’d been the whole of the past year. He didn’t think she’d realized she’d let him hold her hand.
“Why don’t you take Miss Skylar to the solarium? And remember, use your soft voice when you talk to her.”
“Okay,” Everly whispered.
“Can I do anything to help?” Skye said.
“Nope. Go with Everly. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Everly took Skye’s hand. “Do you like pickles?” she whisper-shouted as they walked away.
“I do,” Skye whispered back.
He narrowed his eyes at that tidy bun low on her neck. His fingers itched to pull the pins in her hair out, one by one. Her hair was glorious. Silky soft and fell halfway down her back.
Even in her sheriff’s uniform, she was sexy as hell. He’d been disappointed that she came in her uniform because he knew she’d done it on purpose. A reminder that tonight was a business meeting, nothing more. Well, they’d just see about that.
Fuzz barreled through the doggie door, went straight to his dinner bowl, and chowed down.
As instructed by Katie, the lasagna had been cooling for fifteen minutes. Tristan took the French bread from the oven, sliced it, then put the pieces in a breadbasket.