from Jace, only to discover that on the counter beside him was a platter heaped with bacon—
heaped!
Her mouth watered at the sight. Turning, she saw a table positioned beneath a large picture window. It was already laid out with paper plates, cups, and utensils. There was a carton of orange juice, a tower of toast, a bowl of crisp hash browns, and inexplicably, a plate of carrots with a small cup of ranch dressing.
“Sorry, my culinary skills are strictly from the frozen-foods section,” Jace said as he scooped the eggs onto a dinner plate and carried it to the table. As he bent to set it down, Bronte was able to see that his jeans had begun to moldthemselves to the shape of his butt and the bend of his knees. The man had a really great butt.
What was wrong with her this morning?
“I hope you don’t mind the way I made myself at home,” Jace was saying. “Annie and I have slipped into a habit of having breakfast together, and I figured you wouldn’t have had much time to figure out where everything is.”
Bronte quickly yanked her gaze away from Jace’s backside. “No. I don’t mind at all.”
Mind?
She couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—that someone had taken the time to cook for her. Right now, staring down at a hot breakfast straight out of a
Waltons
rerun, she knew that if Phillip were here, he’d be complaining about the three “Deadly Cs,” carbs, cholesterol, and calories. But she didn’t care. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of solid food rather than the coffee and diet soda that had been her mainstays during their hasty road trip.
Suddenly eager, Bronte leaned into the hall to call, “Kari, Lily! Breakfast!”
The side door squeaked open and a tall, gangly teenager stepped inside. He had a shock of brown-black hair that hung straight and thick into his eyes, pimpled cheeks, and a frame so long and lean he appeared more legs than body. He kept his gaze downcast as he moved toward Jace, all but hiding behind a paper bag bulging with groceries.
“You can put the sack on the counter, Barry.”
As the boy moved forward, she could see that he used his whole body to propel the motion rather than merely his leg muscles.
“Do you want me to put the stuff away, Jace?”
Barry’s voice was curiously monotone and measured, and Bronte immediately realized that the boy suffered from some sort of disability.
“No, you can leave it there.” Jace gestured to me. “Say hi to Mrs. Cupacek. She’s going to be staying with Annie for a while.”
From behind his bangs, Barry directed his gaze to a point off Bronte’s left shoulder.
“Hi.”
She smiled, sensing that his stress levels had ratcheted up to infinity at being forced to talk to her.
“Hello, Barry. You can call me Bronte.”
His gaze skipped to Jace. “Why is she named after a dinosaur, Jace?”
It took her a moment, but then she realized that he had linked her name to a brontosaurus.
“I’m actually named after an author. Charlotte Bronte.”
Again, his face aimed in her direction, but his eyes remained a few feet off center.
“Why?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. My parents were looking for trendy names for me and my siblings. Each of us is named after an author.”
Clearly, Barry didn’t see the logic in that. “I think you’re named after a dinosaur.”
Grinning, she shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”
Jace touched his brother lightly on the shoulder. “Breakfast is ready. Why don’t you go see if Tyson is finished with Bronte’s car and tell him to come inside?”
Barry nodded, shuffling out the door. “I’m going to go get Tyson, Bronte.”
When he moved out of earshot, Jace said, “Sorry about that. Barry has no edit button. He speaks his mind.”
She watched the boy through the lacy curtains. “I like that in a person.”
She felt, rather than saw, an air of tension ease from Jace’s posture. His eyes, when they met hers, were clear and direct. Where last night, the color had been
heaped!
Her mouth watered at the sight. Turning, she saw a table positioned beneath a large picture window. It was already laid out with paper plates, cups, and utensils. There was a carton of orange juice, a tower of toast, a bowl of crisp hash browns, and inexplicably, a plate of carrots with a small cup of ranch dressing.
“Sorry, my culinary skills are strictly from the frozen-foods section,” Jace said as he scooped the eggs onto a dinner plate and carried it to the table. As he bent to set it down, Bronte was able to see that his jeans had begun to moldthemselves to the shape of his butt and the bend of his knees. The man had a really great butt.
What was wrong with her this morning?
“I hope you don’t mind the way I made myself at home,” Jace was saying. “Annie and I have slipped into a habit of having breakfast together, and I figured you wouldn’t have had much time to figure out where everything is.”
Bronte quickly yanked her gaze away from Jace’s backside. “No. I don’t mind at all.”
Mind?
She couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—that someone had taken the time to cook for her. Right now, staring down at a hot breakfast straight out of a
Waltons
rerun, she knew that if Phillip were here, he’d be complaining about the three “Deadly Cs,” carbs, cholesterol, and calories. But she didn’t care. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of solid food rather than the coffee and diet soda that had been her mainstays during their hasty road trip.
Suddenly eager, Bronte leaned into the hall to call, “Kari, Lily! Breakfast!”
The side door squeaked open and a tall, gangly teenager stepped inside. He had a shock of brown-black hair that hung straight and thick into his eyes, pimpled cheeks, and a frame so long and lean he appeared more legs than body. He kept his gaze downcast as he moved toward Jace, all but hiding behind a paper bag bulging with groceries.
“You can put the sack on the counter, Barry.”
As the boy moved forward, she could see that he used his whole body to propel the motion rather than merely his leg muscles.
“Do you want me to put the stuff away, Jace?”
Barry’s voice was curiously monotone and measured, and Bronte immediately realized that the boy suffered from some sort of disability.
“No, you can leave it there.” Jace gestured to me. “Say hi to Mrs. Cupacek. She’s going to be staying with Annie for a while.”
From behind his bangs, Barry directed his gaze to a point off Bronte’s left shoulder.
“Hi.”
She smiled, sensing that his stress levels had ratcheted up to infinity at being forced to talk to her.
“Hello, Barry. You can call me Bronte.”
His gaze skipped to Jace. “Why is she named after a dinosaur, Jace?”
It took her a moment, but then she realized that he had linked her name to a brontosaurus.
“I’m actually named after an author. Charlotte Bronte.”
Again, his face aimed in her direction, but his eyes remained a few feet off center.
“Why?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. My parents were looking for trendy names for me and my siblings. Each of us is named after an author.”
Clearly, Barry didn’t see the logic in that. “I think you’re named after a dinosaur.”
Grinning, she shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”
Jace touched his brother lightly on the shoulder. “Breakfast is ready. Why don’t you go see if Tyson is finished with Bronte’s car and tell him to come inside?”
Barry nodded, shuffling out the door. “I’m going to go get Tyson, Bronte.”
When he moved out of earshot, Jace said, “Sorry about that. Barry has no edit button. He speaks his mind.”
She watched the boy through the lacy curtains. “I like that in a person.”
She felt, rather than saw, an air of tension ease from Jace’s posture. His eyes, when they met hers, were clear and direct. Where last night, the color had been
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