Rebecca and Jack’s was much more inviting, with neatly trimmed hedgerows and wildflowers that Jack had cultivated so it matched the garden that their mother had planted next door all those years ago.
‘Hey, I’m here,’ Laurel called as she opened the door to her dad’s house. Like all old farmhouses, the front door opened into the main room. If you were coming from the farm, you went around the back, via the mud room.
‘Laurel, my girl!’
Rebecca appeared from the kitchen, looking the perfect wife in a breton top and jeans. Designer, but not pretentious.
‘Where do you want this?’ Laurel said, holding out her offering. ‘Don’t say in the bin. You know it’s Dad’s favourite.’
It was her mother’s recipe, although Laurel couldn’t quite get it right.
Rebecca rolled her eyes good naturedly.
‘Give it to me. Here, this is for you.’ She held out a large wine glass to Laurel, who swapped it for rice pudding.
‘Where are my favourite niece and nephew?’ Laurel called, and was rewarded by a thunder of feet on the stairs.
‘Laurel, Laurel,’ six-year-old Lila shouted as she raced down the stairs. ‘We’re showing him your room! He’s seen Daddy’s!’
She laughed, setting her glass down on the mantelpiece. ‘Showing who?’
The question died on her lips as little Lila, the image of Rebecca, appeared from stairwell, tugging a very abashed Nate by the hand. Micah, the image of Jack, appeared behind them, his hand tight in Nate’s other.
Nate Daley. In her childhood house. For Fletcher Family Sunday Dinner.
What. The. Fuck.
Nate curved his lips apologetically, his eyebrows creasing slightly and goddamn it, she found him hot even when she was annoyed by him literally going through her childhood stuff.
Good lord, her dolls. The pink floral wallpaper. The My Little Ponies that she would never throw away because she’d brushed their manes with her mum when she was dying.
Laurel pushed down a cringe.
‘And where are my cuddles?’ She crouched and opened her arms.
The kids rushed her, Nate forgotten, and she stumbled backwards a little. ‘Gosh, you guys are super strong. Must be all the vegetables your mum feeds you.’ She planted a kiss on each of their heads. ‘But...’ Lowering her voice to a whisper because Rebecca had supersonic hearing, Laurel reached into her handbag and withdrew two chocolate bars. ‘Shh, don’t tell Mum and Dad.’
Micah squeaked in delight. Lila gave Laurel a long-suffering look borrowed straight from Rebecca. As if summoned like a creature from the deep, Rebecca called from the kitchen, ‘Don’t you eat that, kids. In fact, bring it to me. Now.’
You didn’t argue with that tone, and the kids shuffled off, leaving Laurel with Nate. Deliberately not meeting his eyes, she reached for her wine. Only when she’d fortified herself with a gulp did she smile at him, keeping a blush down by sheer force of will.
‘What?’
Why was he looking at her like that? All soft around his stupid blue eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him in casual clothes. Dig clothes didn’t count; they were messy clothes, and he’d been dressed up (kind of) when he’d arrived. Her eyes wandered of their own accord over his chest; the duck egg blue shirt accentuating the muscular curve of his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to show sun-browned forearms.
So annoying.
He was watching her when she dragged her traitorous eyes up to his face again. Not that his face was any less annoying. ‘Nothing, just,’ he hesitated, ‘you’re really good with them.’ He gestured to the kitchen, meaning Lila and Micah.
‘Yeah, ’course I am,’ she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head. ‘I helped the twins come out of Rebecca’s vagina.’
Nate had the good grace to cough slightly and he looked away, pink embarrassment shining on his neck.
‘It’s just...’ he obviously didn’t know when to quit, ‘you’re so different at work.’
Laurel raised an eyebrow. This could go one of two ways. She could be insulted and ruin family dinner, or she could shrug, sip her wine and think ‘fuck you Nate Daley, you don’t get a rise out of me’.
‘Work is work. This isn’t work.’
