My jaw works back and forth, and I find myself stalled in the hallway, battling within my head and heart for reasons I don’t understand.
With a deep breath, I run my hand through my hair and close the door to my room.
Fix her car, I tell myself. Get her out of your life and theirs, I plead, but when have I ever been good at listening? Maybe I’m a shrimp. Think with my heart, because it’s in my fucking head now.
It’s the best place on earth.
KACY
I wake up in the morning to no sounds. Nothing. No police sirens, dogs barking, or the construction outside my apartment.
It’s… glorious. Pure, heavenly serenity.
I take that back. There are sounds, just not ones I’ve been accustomed to over the years. And talking. From little voices.
Do you know when someone is staring at you? That feeling you get like you’re being watched? I have that now, but I keep my eyes closed and wait. I listen to their voices and soft breathing, knowing they’re close to me, if not sitting right in front of me.
“She’s pretty.”
“She’s drooling.”
“I likes her hair.”
“Do you think she’s hungry?”
There’s a sigh followed by “I not know. I’m hungry. Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s outside moving snow. I’ll make you some waffles.”
“Okay. Lots of sirup.”
“Syrup.”
“Can you make them black?”
“No.”
“Look at the snow!”
I hear footsteps and pry one eye open to see the girls moving away from me toward the windows overlooking what looks to be a complete whiteout. The snow is so high you can see it pilling up against the windows.
Both girls are still in their pajamas, their hands pressed to the windows. I take a minute to watch them, enthralled by their every movement. The taller one with dark hair presses her face to the window, her breath on the pane as she watches her daddy.
The little blonde one, who’s less than impressed, drops her hands from the window. “It’s cold.”
“I hope I don’t have school,” the darker-haired one notes.
Sitting up, I smile at them. In the process of moving, I drop a pillow on the floor, and they both turn to face me.
“Hello,” I say, unsure what else to do. Weird woman waking up in their home. What else am I going to say?
“Hi!” The taller moves toward me. Actually, they both do and stand about a foot from my face. “What’s your name?”
“Kacy Conner.” I swallow, feeling like they’re about to ask me a bunch of questions. Having them this close, I can tell Tara is their mother. While the older one has her dad’s dark eyes and hair, her face is the spitting image of Tara. The younger one has Tara’s blonde hair and eyes, but everything else is Barron.
The older one takes my hand in hers. “I’m Camdyn Rose Grady. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you, Camdyn.”
The blonde one with messy curls in her face half smiles. “You’re drooling.”
Shit. I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “Whoops. Guess I slept really good.”
The little one sits next to me and touches my hair. “I Sev. I likes your hair.”
“Thank you. I like your curls.”
“I grew them,” she whispers, twirling them around her fingers like a string. “Where you come from?”
“California.”
Camdyn smiles. “Where’s that?”
“On the coast.”
“What’s a coast?”
Before I can answer Camdyn, the door opens, and in walks Barron, cheeks flushed from the cold, covered in snow, and looking like the hottest countryman I’ve ever seen. I stare. Like deer in the headlights. Ha. I know that look now too. Rest in peace, Buck.
Wearing a beanie cap, his hair peeks out the side and back. He yanks it off, snow falling from his shoulders as he stomps his feet at the door. “Girls, leave Kacy alone.” Peeling his jacket away, he shakes it out and then hangs it on a hook near the door.
My heart leaps at the way he says my name in the Southern drawl, and I’m dying to run up to him so I can smell him.
The girls jump up, running toward him. “Can we go play in it?” Camdyn asks.
“After you eat something and get dressed.” He looks down at the kids at his feet, both staring up at him like he’s ten feet tall and promising them the world. You know, he’s probably one of the ones who keep their promises, unlike the men in my life. “Then I have to head up to the shop.”
The girls take off to their room, but Camdyn halts her steps, and Sev runs right into her back. They both fall to the ground. Camdyn peels herself from the ground. “Do I have school?”
A chuckle leaves Barron’s lips. “No. We can barely get out of the driveway.”
“Yes!” she yells, heading toward her room.
And then I’m left alone with him. Straightening out my shirt, I stand up and try to comb my hair with my hands. He smirks, noticing, and steps inside the house, setting his gloves on the fireplace mantel. Our eyes meet, hold, and then he breathes lightly, as if deciding on his words. The silence hanging between us is an all-encompassing quietness I’m not used to. I’m used to orders and demands, not attention from someone obviously curious as to why I’ve shown up in his life.
He swallows, a smirk forming. “Sorry about them. We don’t get visitors often.”
“That’s okay.” I unintentionally step toward him. He eyes me carefully, and if I had to guess, he’s just as intrigued by me as I with him. “They’re so cute.”
“They’re a fuckin’ handful is what they are.” He laughs under his breath and then nods to the kitchen, distancing himself from me. “There’s coffee if you’d like some.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do girls from California drink coffee?”
“I’m not from California. I was just born and raised there.” Instinctively, I step closer, unable to allow space between us. “And yes, I’d love some coffee.”
He stares at me as if he doesn’t understand what I said. He probably doesn’t. I follow him into the kitchen area and take the cup he hands me. “If you’re born and raised there, that generally means you’re from there.”
I wrap my hands around the cup. “Sure, but my soul doesn’t belong there.”
His eyes move to mine and then back to the coffee pot. “Where does it belong?”
“South.”
There’s a flicker of amusement on his face as he pours the coffee into my cup. Warmth hits my palms, steam rising and obscuring my view of his beautiful face. “It’s been my experience that everything is better in the South.”
“I’m not sure I’d go with better yet.” There’s a screech of cries in the other room and a door slamming shut, followed by little-girl screams. Barron shakes his head, blowing out a breath as he lifts the cup in his hand to his lips. “They’re eighteen months apart and never get along.”
I smile, thinking of the imaginary sister I had growing up. “Only child here. My sibling was make-believe, and I dreamed up fights between us and acted them out as if we were really having them.”