Sophie looks offended, but Pete just flashes her a smile as he takes his seat next to me and begins filling his plate.
“If you two want to stick around, there’s plenty,” he offers.
I’m fairly certain Henry’s about to protest, so I look at him and mouth the wordschocolate chip pancakes. He smiles broadly and scoots down to make room for Kaden who’s already started helping himself.
“This looks awesome, thanks,” he says, plopping a spoonful of sour cream onto his tortilla before inhaling it in two bites. The poor guy probably hasn’t tasted seasoned food in years.
Sophie’s pouting in the doorway, but when no onefusses over her or even pays any attention to her, she squeezes her tiny little butt onto the chair next to Kersey’s.
The conversation inevitably turns to hockey, and though I have to admit I’m beginning to understand the appeal of the sport—mostly because of my very own personal D-man—I check my phone when I hear it ping with a notification.
Sophie makes a tsking sound. “No phones at the table,” she chides, as though she thinks she’s my mother. I get the feeling Sophie has a lot of rules for people—including Kersey—but I’m a grown ass adult and I can look at my phone if I want to. Before I can tell her as much, my phone chimes again.
“Is thatPrentiss?” Pete asks, unable to disguise his enthusiasm.
“No,” I answer, my eyes skimming the email from the color analysis place I’m doing a story on. “Oh, shit,” I mutter after I’ve read the message a second time.
“What’s up?” Pete asks, concern shadowing his face. “Did you get another nasty message?”
I look up to see twin expressions of doom on his brothers’ faces. They’re just as unhappy as he is.
“No,” I say quickly, because a lot of the hate has died down. Sure, I still get nasty looks and I’m sure if I tried to attend a baseball game, they’d tell me all the bleachers were full, but for the most part things are improving. “Remember that color analysis story I’m doing?”
Pete smiles, no doubt remembering how helpful he was when I needed to submit my photos.
“Well, Taryn never uploaded her photos.”
“That stinks. Can you do it alone?”
“No,” I answer. “We booked two sessions, and they’re already paid for.”
Pete offers the plate of quesadillas to me before takinganother for himself. “You could ask Holland,” he suggests. “Or Maggie. She might like a little pampering.”
“Yeah, that would be nice, but I can’t,” I say. “Your face was in a few of the photos, so they assumed you were the other client. What do you say? Want to get your colors done?”
Pete’s such a good sport that I know he’ll cave, but I feel bad asking. He has such a hectic schedule right now that squeezing in an hour-long session is inconvenient, to say the least.
“I don’t need my colors done,” he says. “I already know they’re burgundy and silver.” He lets out a mini howl that puts a smile on my face, but his next words warm my cold, dead heart. “But yeah, I’m game. It sounds like fun.”
“You are the best,” I say, leaning over to smack a kiss on his cheek.
“I’ll go with you,” Sophie says on a sigh, like she hasn’t heard a word of our conversation.
“Thanks,” I say as politely as possible. “but Pete already has an appointment and you two look nothing alike.”
She doesn’t laugh at my joke and neither does Kersey, but he has an excuse. He’s too busy gobbling up another quesadilla.
“Are you really making Pete go along to get his colors done?” she asks, like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“I’m not making him do anything.” I reach for my glass of water, and she pats my hand like I’m an unruly child.
“You can probably call and get it all sorted out. I would never drag Kaden to something like that.”
Again, I have to wonder if she’s actually heard anything we’ve said. She’s much more worked up about this than we are.
Kaden’s finally finished eating—for now—and he just smiles at her. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says. “You started taking me to art shows a couple years ago, and we always have a good time.”
“That’s because art exhibits have culture,” she says, folding her arms over her chest.
