Kitabı oku: «Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever», sayfa 3

A smile tugged the corner of her lips as she savored the moment of victory. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Maybe Alex Markoff wasn’t as hardhearted as he’d like the world to believe.

While she may have won this particular battle for Puddin’s rights, there were only so many times she could push her luck before Alex tossed her out, Stuart Lefkowitz’s threats be damned. By her count, she’d already pushed twice. Three times if she counted using the breach of contract threat as leverage. Therefore, Kelsey made a point of bringing Puddin’ to her room for the night, making sure the cat stayed out of Alex’s way.

“The less he sees of you, my friend, the better,” she told him. Puddin’, naturally, didn’t mind. He simply sprawled across her comforter and started bathing.

Next morning, she woke at the crack of dawn and deposited the now indignant Puddin’ on the doorstep before heading into town. The latest Grandma Rosie payment was due and she wanted to make sure the check went out registered mail. The storm had ended a few hours earlier, leaving only a few downed branches and puddles as evidence it existed. Pulling onto the main road, she saw a power truck restringing the line and was surprised at the small stab of disappointment. Surely she didn’t want to spend another night in the dark with Alex, with its odd mixture of intimacy and mystery. Did she?

She pulled onto Main Street, grateful the early hour meant an abundance of parking. Stockbridge was one of those sleepy towns that exploded in summer. Once a Gilded Age playground, the area had reinvented itself as an arts center featuring everything from symphony orchestras to offbeat art galleries. City dwellers flocked to the region, eager to soak up the pastoral atmosphere even as they disturbed it. For the residents, she imagined the crowds were a double-edged sword, simultaneously welcome and disdained.

Except for Alex. He simply disdained.

A sign on the post office window told her she had another fifteen minutes so she made her way down the street to the Leafy Bean. Farley’s grocery store captured the area’s atmosphere in one eclectic building. Part grocery, part café, part gourmet haven, the place featured everything from imported almond oil to homemade pastries served with a healthy dose of local color. And, as Kelsey discovered when picking up her grocery order, the store boasted an amazing selection of brewed coffee.

A brass bell announced her arrival. Farley was behind the counter, a large green apron covering his burly frame. His gloves and wrists were covered with flour.

“Morning, Farley,” she greeted him, getting a grunt in return. “Some storm last night, huh? Nuttingwood lost power.”

“Whaddya expect, up there in the middle of nowhere.”

Alone, where no one could find him. “That’s what Mr. Markoff likes about the place. It’s private.”

“Private like a hermit,” Farley muttered back.

The Hermit of Nuttingwood. The moniker fit. It was sad and enigmatic. Now that she knew his story, or part of it, she couldn’t blame him for wanting a little privacy, although retiring to the side of a mountain for five years still seemed a bit extreme. After all, she knew as well as anyone that life was seldom fair. The letter tucked in her satchel proved that. People used other people all the time. You learned to adapt.

Not to mention keep your distance. Mind your own business. Don’t get too attached and think too far into the future. For people who didn’t have the luxury of hiding on a mountainside, those rules were the key to survival. She knew because she’d been following them since she was four years old.

Except for this week. What was it about Alex Markoff that made her forget the rules?

“Better get your coffee while you can,” Farley said, coming around to pour himself a cup as well. “Once the tourists wake up, they’ll clean the place out.”

She took it as a supreme compliment that he didn’t lump her in with that group. “Isn’t business a good thing?”

“Pain in the neck is what it is,” Farley replied. “Always looking for some fancy flavor or asking if my beans are ‘fair trade’. Says right there on the sign clear as day. Can’t they read?”

Kelsey smiled over the rim of her coffee. “Guess not.”

The older man was about to add more when the doorbell jingled. A group of two men and three women, clearly tourists, entered. The men wore pastel island shirts and khaki shorts—an outfit that was nearly uniform among visitors—while the women wore various forms of linen. All of them wore some kind of hat—either straw or baseball—perched on their heads.

“Do you have cappuccinos?” one of the women asked as they approached the counter.

“Everything we’ve got is on the counter,” Farley replied, shooting Kelsey a look as if to say “see what I mean?”

“Who needs lattes, just give me a straight shot of joe,” one of the men said. He was tall and athletic looking with sandy brown hair. Smiling at Kelsey, he added, “Too bad you can’t hook up an intravenous line.”

“Then how would you add sugar?” Kelsey asked.

“Who cares as long as it’s going straight into my veins.” The stranger grinned, then after a pause, pointed a finger at her.

“Nels Bïrdgarten’s gallery showing, right? I was trying to think where we met. You look familiar.”

If she had a nickel for every time a stranger tried that come-on, she wouldn’t have to worry about paying off her debt. “Maybe our paths crossed somewhere in the city,” she suggested.

“Could be. Or it was a cheap excuse to introduce myself. Tom Forbes.”

At least he admitted the line was cheesy. Kelsey shook the hand he offered and introduced herself.

“So you’re from New York,” he continued. “Come to the Berkshires often?”

“First time. I’m here for the summer for a work assignment. You?”

“Every summer since I was eight. My parents have a place on the lake. Not a bad locale if you don’t mind quiet.”

You don’t know quiet, Kelsey thought to herself. “I don’t. Besides, you can’t beat the coffee.”

“Not New York standards, but it’ll do, I suppose.” Over at the register, Farley coughed. Oblivious, Tom raised the cup to his lips.

“Tom!” the female ringleader called over. “We’re heading to the arts and crafts store.”

“You go ahead, Moira. I’m going to finish my coffee, unless—” he flashed a bright smile “—I can talk you into breakfast at the Inn.”

Kelsey chewed her lower lip. She should head back to Nuttingwood. On the other hand, it felt good to have someone want her company for a change. What she wouldn’t give to have Alex toss even a hint of a smile in her direction.

She reached for a plastic to-go lid. “Why not?” she said, smiling back. “Breakfast sounds nice.”

She got back to Nuttingwood far later than planned. Tom turned out to be pleasant company: charming, talkative, entertaining. A tad pompous but nice enough. He described himself as a social gadfly, doing a little bit of everything. “You know,” he’d said when she asked, “a freelance project here, a blog article there.”

In other words, he was rich enough that he didn’t need to work.

When they parted company, he insisted on taking her cell phone number and made no bones about wanting to see her again. Had she been in New York, maybe she’d consider the offer, but here, under the circumstances, she wasn’t so sure.

And her reluctance had nothing to do with her antisocial boss, she insisted to herself. Even if she did spend a good portion of the meal wondering what sharing breakfast with Alex would be like.

True to form, Alex was nowhere to be found when she returned, but Puddin’ was. Someone had left the garden door unlatched and the cat had ensconced himself quite comfortably on her desk chair.

“And I thought I was pushing my luck,” she said. “You know that nine lives thing is a myth, right?”

Puddin’ rolled onto his back, exposing his belly.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with a negative checking balance.” She’d made an extra large payment this month. It drained her account, leaving her barely enough to cover expenses. And Grandma Rosie’s debt still loomed as mountainous as ever.

So while Puddin’ might be willing to risk Alex’s wrath, Kelsey wasn’t. She needed this job.

“Sorry, pal, but I used up my defiance last night.” Since Puddin’ didn’t care to cooperate by moving on his own, she gathered him in her arms. “Now,” she said, walking outside and setting him gently on the stone terrace, “why don’t you go find a nice bush to sleep under before the boss sees you.”

“Too late.” Alex appeared out of nowhere, brandishing a walking stick.

How on earth did he manage to sneak up on her like that? It was like he really was some kind of ghost. He glowered at Puddin’, who appeared unimpressed.

“That thing’s still here, I see.”

“Good morning to you too,” she replied. In addition to his specter-like approach, he managed to look uncommonly good this morning. Those khaki shorts and hiking shirt suited him way more than Tom. Probably, she stole a glance at his toned calves, because he actually hiked. “And this ‘thing’ has a name. Puddin’.”

“You named a stray cat?”

“Even strays deserve an identity.” She knelt down to scratch Puddin’s head. “Everyone wants to know they matter a little bit.”

“As long as you don’t mislead them or make them think they mean more than they do.”

“Because they might get too comfortable.”

“Or burned.”

Were they still talking about the cat? No longer sure, Kelsey fell silent, letting the sound of Puddin’s purring fill the void.

“Where did you go this morning?”

“Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“I saw you drive away.”

Kelsey wasn’t sure if she should resent or be flattered by the close attention. “I had some errands to run in town,” she replied.

“Errands.”

“Yes.” She did know she resented the skeptical way he repeated the word. “You know, post office, grocery store … Farley had fresh baked apricot turnovers. I brought back some if you’re interested.”

Alex appeared to be only half listening, too busy was he rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes were half-closed, and he twisted his head back and forth like it needed loosening.

“Stiff neck?” Kelsey asked.

Naturally he gave her a suspicious look. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re rubbing your neck same as you were last night. I made the assumption.”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“And you shouldn’t rub your neck so hard if you don’t want people to make them.”

Her comment earned a grimace. “I have a headache. Nothing I can’t manage.”

“Are you sure?” Upon closer inspection, she could see dark circles under his eyes and that his normally ruddy skin had a slight pallor. The sight kicked her maternal instincts into gear. Without realizing, she reached out to feel his forehead. His skin was cool and smooth. Touching it made the pads of her fingers tingle. “Did you take anything?”

“I’m fine.” His expression remained guarded, but a note of tightness managed to creep into his voice. It was that note that drew her closer.

And closer. Until she’d practically eliminated the space between them. Her hand was still brushing his forehead. “You look pale,” she murmured.

“You don’t need to be concerned.”

“I know I don’t have to. Maybe I—”

The low sound of jazz music interrupted. Her phone. As expected, the moment the song rang out, Alex backed away leaving her hand hovering in the air. Balling her still tingling fingers into a fist, she reached into her skirt pocket with the other and fished out the phone.

“Frutti de Mar.”

Between the static and the non sequitur, it took her a moment before she recognized the voice. “Tom?”

“Looks like I made as good an impression as I thought.”

“We parted company less than an hour ago. Kind of hard not to remember.”

She turned her back. Feeling Alex’s probing stare burning holes in her spine, she tried her best to sound casual. “What can I do for you?”

“I told you. Frutti de Mar. Best gourmet seafood around, at least for this area. I find myself with a table for two and only one chair filled. I was hoping you could fill the other.”

“You want to have dinner? Tonight?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Alex walk away, their moment from before a distant memory.

If there had even been a moment. She could have imagined the whole thing. Just like last night’s spark in the dark.

Or the way she was imagining the air cooling with his departure.

“Seven o’clock okay?”

“What?” Her attention had been on the man disappearing into the trees.

“For dinner. Does seven o’clock work for you?”

“I, uh …” It’s not like she had any other plans. Tom was a nice guy. A pleasant guy who wanted to take her out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. But for some reason, she couldn’t work up the interest.

Her eyes drifted back to the tree line. “Can I take a rain check?”

She’d give him credit. The rejection barely fazed him. “Sure. But so you know, I have every intention of holding you to it. We will have dinner one of these nights.”

“If you say so.” But she already knew she’d turn down the next invitation as well.

They talked for a few more minutes, basically polite chatter so her refusal didn’t feel too unfriendly, before Kelsey went to work. For the next few hours she immersed herself in transcription until her brain couldn’t take the dark subject matter any longer and screamed for a break. Then, unable to look at the screen another second, she saved her document, grabbed her coffee cup and headed into the great room.

What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEX sat by the French doors.

Actually slumped was a better description. Kelsey rushed towards him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Eyes closed, face paler than before, he was leaning forward with a hand cradling his forehead. His walking stick lay discarded by his feet. “It’s your head, isn’t it?”

“Go away,” he groaned through motionless lips. “I’m fine.”

“Liar. You look like you’re ready to pass out.” He looked up at her with glazed eyes, proving her point. “I’m calling your doctor. What’s his name?”

“No doctor.”

“Are you crazy? This could be a complication from your injury.” Like a blood clot or something. Her insides froze at the thought he could be seriously hurt and she hadn’t realized.

“It’s not a complication, it’s a migraine.” His eyes closed again. “I just need to sit for a while. Regain my equilibrium.”

From the looks of him, that might take a while. Kelsey didn’t think a person could look more miserable if they tried. She remembered when Rochelle, her second foster mother, would get migraines. She’d kick all the kids outside for the day, no matter the weather. “And no making noise either,” she’d order.

At her worst, Rochelle had never looked as miserable as Alex.

Remembering Rochelle made her think of something else. “Do you take anything? Some kind of prescription?”

Alex made a rumble deep in his throat. “Upstairs. In the bathroom.” He continued speaking that stiffjawed manner, as if the mere act of talking hurt.

“Do you want me to help you upstairs,” she asked, reaching for his elbow, “so you can take—”

“No!” He said the word forcefully, so much so he winced immediately, and dropped to a whisper. “I just need to sit. Alone. Please leave.”

“And let you suffer? I don’t think so. Where upstairs do you keep your prescription?”

“My bathroom medicine cabinet.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

She dashed upstairs, making her way to the bedroom next to hers. Alex’s room was exactly as she expected, chic and dark and very masculine. Rust, beige and brown, like a fall landscape. Magazines and books covered what looked like an expensive, king-size bed.

She walked into the bathroom, momentarily envious of the airy modern style. The scent of wood and clove hung in the air telling her Alex had been there recently. A plastic sleeve, presumably worn to keep his cast dry, hung from the shower rod and the mat in front of the shower stall was still damp. Suddenly she was assaulted by the image of Alex standing under the stream, water cascading down his body …

Blushing from the inappropriateness, she shoved the image away. Now was not the time to start some kind of weird, useless fantasy. She found the prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet. Grabbing it and a glass of water, she headed back downstairs.

Alex hadn’t moved. If he hadn’t shifted uncomfortably when she walked back into the room, she’d have thought him asleep. “Probably a little late for this to kill the pain completely, but it might help a little. Hold out your hand.”

He grumbled, but did what she asked.

Kelsey smiled at her victory. “Now, how about you lie down? Do you think you can make it to the sofa?”

“I’ve got a headache—I’m not paralyzed.”

Good to see the headache didn’t spoil his charming demeanor. She watched as he eased himself into an upright position. Body bent, shoulders and head stiff, he shuffled across the floor like an arthritic old man. It was all she could do not to wrap her arm around his waist and help him. In fact, if she wasn’t certain he’d bite her head off, she would have.

Instead, she followed quietly while he made his way across the room and eased himself onto the sofa.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to your room? You’d be more comfortable in a bed.”

“Too many stairs,” he mumbled. “I’ll be fine here.”

The couch was too small and too pillow-laden to accommodate his lanky frame, so he’d ended up with one leg propped on the floor. His cast rested on his chest, while his good arm lay slung across his eyes. The helplessness of his position tugged at her heartstrings.

“You can leave now,” he said.

She could. But she didn’t. Drawing closer, Kelsey noticed his skin was covered with gooseflesh. In spite of the fact the afternoon sun poured through the windows heating the room, he was shivering.

“You’re still here,” he said in a low voice.

“And you’re cold,” she replied back. “Would you like a blanket?”

“No.”

God, he was stubborn. What was he going to do, lie there and shiver? Did he know how pathetic that looked? She looked around for something she could use as a blanket. A dozen pillows and no throw. Remembering the extra blanket in her room, she ran up and got that, tucking it gently around his torso, being careful not to jar him too much.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Because you’re shivering.”

“I mean, why are you sticking around?”

“Oh, that.” Why indeed? Truth be told, she couldn’t explain, other than it hurt her to see him suffering. “What can I say? I have a rescue complex.”

“In other words, I’m another cat.”

The medicine was starting to kick in. Still, even thick with sleep, there was no mistaking the resignation in his voice as if he didn’t believe someone could sincerely care. It made Kelsey think of the other night, when he was watching the rain.

Her heart ached a little more.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked. “Water? A phone?”

“I’ll be fine. You can leave with a clear conscience.”

“Thanks for the permission.”

He didn’t respond. Sleep had claimed him. Kelsey watched as his breathing slowly evened out.

Two hours later, she was still sitting in the living room, watching. She’d told herself she was only going to stay a few extra minutes. To make sure he was truly asleep before heading up to her room. But the longer she sat, the more she couldn’t tear herself away. Couldn’t stop studying his face. The way his brow smoothed in sleep or how his lips parted ever so slightly. Nestled among the pillows, he had a gentle serenity about him that, when awake, he hid from the world.

Unable to help herself, she tucked the blanket around him a little tighter. He smelled of clove and woods and sleep, and she had the overwhelming urge to lean closer and bury herself in the scent. Her fingers longed to stroke his cheek. Dear Lord, he was beautiful. She couldn’t deny her attraction if she tried. But beneath the attraction, she sensed something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The sensation stirred inside her, faintly, tentatively, afraid to make itself fully known. She was afraid too. Because she wasn’t sure if she wanted the sensation to go away.

Alex slept through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. At some point, Kelsey considered waking him so he could go to his room, but she didn’t. He looked too exhausted to disturb. Plus downstairs she could keep an eye on him.

At least that’s what she told herself.

She’d been joking about the rescue complex. Truth was, she didn’t know where this maternal streak of hers was coming from. As a kid, she sometimes helped the younger children with homework and stuff, but that was expected in a large household. But since moving out on her own, she’d focused solely on taking care of herself. Clearly something about Nuttingwood brought out her nesting instinct.

Something or someone?

After dinner, which she was pretty sure didn’t come close to Frutti de Mar standards, she returned to the great room to find Alex beginning to stir. “Hey,” she said softly, as his eyelids fluttered open, “you’re awake.” And feeling better, judging by the clarity in his gaze.

“You’re still here,” he greeted back, his voice still a little thick. “I thought you had dinner plans.”

That’s right, he walked away before the end of her and Tom’s conversation. “I took a rain check.”

“Oh.”

His response had a queer-sounding note she couldn’t pinpoint. “Good thing too,” she told him.

“Why’s that?”

Slowly, he shifted himself into a sitting position. With his hair matted on one side and a crease on his cheek, he looked perfectly and adorably tussled. Kelsey’s stomach twittered. “Well, for one thing, you’d have woken to a dark and empty house.”

“News flash—I’ve done that for years. Goes hand in hand with the hermit thing.”

The medicine still had a hold; his words were slurred and punchier than normal. Try as she might, Kelsey couldn’t help a smile. “Funny, that’s what Farley called you.”

Sleepy cuteness turned sullen. “I’m sure they call me lots of things.”

“What makes you think they talk about you much at all?”

“Try four hundred thousand, ninety-four search engine hits,” he replied. “Or have you forgotten already?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” she snapped. When Alex sat up, the blanket she’d tucked over him slid toward the floor. Instinctively she picked it up. “But not everyone is as—”

“Nosy?”

“Curious,” she shot back, “as I am.” Her cheeks warmed remembering the whole exchange. Was he right? That once a victim of gossip, always a victim of gossip? She draped the blanket back over his legs. “Though if you ask me, moving up to a castle in the middle of nowhere, you’re kind of inviting speculation.”

“I’m here because I like my privacy,” he replied in a clipped tone that said the conversation was over.

Kelsey noticed him rubbing his eyes. “Head still hurt?” She remembered Rochelle’s migraines sometimes lasted for days, once getting so bad she ended up in the hospital on a morphine drip.

Alex grabbed the change of topic. “Some, but it’s definitely better. The medicine helped. Along with the sleep. A few more hours and I should be fine.”

Meaning she should take her cue and leave? “Are you heading upstairs?”

He shook his head, while at the same time closing his eyes and burrowing into the throw pillow. “Not yet. I’m comfortable right where I am.”

“Very well then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Kelsey?”

He reached out and caught her wrist, an unnecessary gesture since she stopped as soon as he called out. “Yes?” she asked.

“Thank you.”

That was it. Two words and nothing more, but Alex’s expression was soft and sincere, and his eyes turned from metal to dove-gray, making the sentence sound like volumes. His grip stayed on her arm, simultaneously gentle yet firm. Kelsey could feel the pulse of each individual finger beating against her skin. Their cadence echoed the heart in her chest. A slow honey-coated sensation began twisting deep inside her, and she smiled.

“You’re welcome.” Reluctantly, she slipped her wrist free and headed upstairs.

“Did I really expect anything to change?” she asked Puddin’ the next morning. “I mean, so I helped him with a headache. Big deal.” One second of gratitude hardly changed anything.

“It was just for that one moment—” her skin tingled, remembering how his fingers encircled her wrist “—I felt like we understood each other, you know? That we connected.

“I should have realized it was my imagination.” For starters, she didn’t make connections. Not that kind anyway. And second, this morning Alex was still the dark, aloof man he’d been since her arrival. Worse, if that was possible.

“The guy’s been through the wringer, that’s for sure,” she said, hitting the save button. “I’d probably do the same thing if I’d been ripped apart like that. Makes you wonder what he’ll do when this book comes out.”

If the book comes out. Her gaze traveled back to the dwindling stack of yellow pads. This morning Mr. Lefkowitz sent an e-mail requesting a progress report which she was avoiding answering. With all the cross-outs and redirection, she’d transcribed maybe a third of the book. Certainly not a complete novel by any means. The editor wouldn’t be happy.

“If Alex doesn’t start producing soon, I’ll be stuck here till Christmas,” she said to Puddin’.

Did Alex even celebrate Christmas anymore? The image of a somber, undecorated Nuttingwood popped into her head, breaking her heart. Didn’t seem right he should spend the holidays isolated and lonely.

“Will you listen to yourself?” she said aloud. “What do you care how Alex Markoff spends his holidays?” This was a perfect example of why she didn’t do connections. Connections started you down the road toward foolish, elusive concepts like home and family and holidays …

And kindred spirits with stormy gray eyes.

“That’s it. Time for a break.” Her thoughts were getting way too out of control.

On the terrace, Puddin’ stretched and started to get up. Grabbing her empty mug, Kelsey sent a mock glare at the feline through the open French doors. “Don’t even think about coming inside while I’m getting coffee,” she told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t listen.

Coffee was the one area where she and Alex had an automatic accord. Apparently they were both caffeine addicts so by unspoken agreement the pot remained full and fresh all day. Usually Alex made the first pot, then midmorning it was her turn.

There was only one problem. Alex had put the coffee grinder on the top shelf. He had been leaving the machine on the counter, but today he must have forgotten. Too much on his mind, perhaps?

She set her mug on the counter, then dragged a chair from the table, making a mental note to remind him he promised to keep the machine within her arm’s reach. Not everyone loomed over six feet.

“You’re standing on my counter,” Alex said from behind her.

“What the—”

She nearly dropped the grinder. Worse, she nearly knocked her cup off the edge.

“One of these days I’m going to buy you a bell,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t realize my comings and goings were so important to you.”

“They are when you insist on scaring the bejesus out of me every time you show up.”

Coffee grinder in hand, she hopped off the chair, bringing Alex closer than she expected. Cloves and wood and awkwardness packed the kitchen. For what felt like minutes, neither of them moved, their bodies and gazes stuck in place. Kelsey found herself suddenly painstakingly aware of the stubble on Alex’s cheeks and the way his lips were dry but soft-looking. Eyes traveling upwards, she realized he was studying her too. Or so it appeared. His eyes had an expression she’d never seen before.

“I’m—I’m making fresh coffee,” she finally managed to stammer. What was it about his proximity that made her brain short-circuit? “How’s your head?”

His hand touched his temple as if remembering what she meant. She had the crazy urge to do the same. “Better. Nothing left but a dull ache.”

“Have you had anything to eat? An empty stomach doesn’t help.”

He broke the moment, moving away. “Are you always this concerned about other people’s welfare?” he asked, opening the fridge, “or just mine?”

“Are you always this suspicious of people’s motives? Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask,” she added as he glanced over his shoulder.

With the atmosphere less charged, she returned to the task at hand, carefully measuring the beans into the grinder. A flick of a button filled the kitchen with a loud whir.

“Clearly you have no idea how awful you looked yesterday,” she continued over the noise.

“I’ve been having migraines my whole life. Last time I checked, I survived them all. Besides, I didn’t ask you to stay.”

“Silly me, putting your health first.” She turned off the grinder. “Next time I’ll leave you to suffer all by your lonesome.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re wel—watch out!”

Everything happened in slow motion. Alex had moved to her section of the kitchen and was reaching up to retrieve a cup from the cabinet. As he turned toward her, the outer edge of his cast smacked her coffee mug. The faded floral cup wobbled back and forth, then tumbled over the edge. Kelsey reached out to catch it, but moved too late. With a crack, the mug hit the floor and separated into three large pieces.

“No!” Her stomach churning, Kelsey dropped to her knees. Not her mother’s cup. She blinked, hoping when her eyes opened, the cup would somehow reassemble.