The scene took Juliette a moment to figure out. For one, she couldn’t fathom how the entire place could smell like warm, freshly baked bread and a donkey’s ass, if said donkey’s ass was made of burnt bread. For another, Vi was shoulder to shoulder with the older woman, sweater sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she pounded into a ball of slightly dry dough. Her forearms were caked in flour, as was her face, her hair and most of the kitchen. But she looked like she was having the time of her life.
“What’s going on here?” Juliette wondered out loud as she braved a few more steps closer.
In the corner of the room, rigid and watchful, Phil caught her eye briefly and gave her the slightest of nods that she returned with a half-smile before focusing on the pair at the island again.
“I’m learning to make one of those knotted French breads,” Vi declared, holding up her clump of dough. “I nearly made one earlier, but … there was an accident.”
Juliette glanced over at the chunk of crispy, black steaming on a rack on the counter by the sink.
“I see…” she mumbled. “I didn’t realize you wanted to learn to bake.”
“Oh, I don’t.” Vi laughed. “It’s hard and messy.” She smacked the dough down and smashed it with one fist. “But I get to beat on it so that kind of makes up for it.”
Mrs. Tompkins chuckled. “Don’t listen to her. She’s a natural.”
Juliette opened her mouth when a movement behind her reminded her that she had company.
Quickly, she stepped aside so Killian could step into the mess.
“Uh, Vi, Mrs. Tompkins, this is Killian McClary.”
Vi’s head shot up much faster than Mrs. Tompkins, who seemed unconcerned by yet another new person in their normally empty house.
She offered Killian a small, kind smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” was all she said to him, before turning her attention to Vi once more. “Add some water to your dough.”
Vi wasn’t listening. She was staring with wide eyed interest at Killian.
“You’re Killian,” she blurted, with the glimmer of a cat having finally spotted the elusive mouse. “Well, you’re much better looking than I’d imagined.”
“Vi!” Horrified, Juliette gawked at her sister’s unabashed greeting.
“Thank you,” Killian said with just a hint of amusement.
Vi nodded. “I always thought Columbian drug lords had greasy black hair and pockmarked skin and tattoos. But you are much better.”
In the corner, Phil shifted and Vi’s gaze darted to him before snapping back to Killian, who was biting his lip so hard Juliette was afraid he’d tear a hole in it.
“Crap, was that rude?” Vi hissed through her teeth. “I’m working on my filter. Sometimes I forget.”
Killian burst out laughing. The sound was a rolling rumble that echoed through the house in waves. It coursed over Juliette in a warm caress that left her skin tingling.
“Killian isn’t Columbian,” Juliette murmured, biting back her own laughter as it bubbled up her chest. “He’s Irish and he’s not a drug lord … are you?”
Killian shook his head, still grinning broadly. “No.”
“Ah!” Vi said like that made much more sense. “That explains it then. Irish guys are stupid hot.” She grabbed a box of yeast and shoved it towards Killian. “Read this.”
It was a task not to face palm.
Killian took the box, but set it down carefully. His eyes shone with silent laughter as he regarded Vi.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Viola.”
Vi’s jaw unhinged and a sort of hazy glaze crept across her eyes. “Wow … have you got a brother? Preferably younger.”
Juliette did face palm that time.
Killian chuckled. “Sorry. Just me.”
Vi exhaled, the sound full of dejected sorrow. “Figures. Suppose I’ll have to find my own gorgeous Irish guy. Wonder if I can order one online…”
“Water!” Mrs. Tompkins elbowed her and nudged the bowl of water closer with sticky, doughy fingers.
Vi shot her a glower before sprinkling a few drops over her flaking ball. She rubbed it in and kneaded the dough.
“Don’t understand why we have to keep watering the damn thing,” she muttered. “It’s not a bloody flower…” She paused and considered that a moment. “The growing kind of … oh, never mind.”
Juliette turned to Killian. “I’m sorry. I swear she’s not normally like that. At least, not since recently.”
Lips still quirked, Killian turned his head to her. “I like her.”
Juliette arched a brow. “You would. She all but licked your ego.”
“Mm,” he purred just loud enough for her to hear. “I prefer you licking it anyway.”
Her panties grew damp at the suggestive murmur that sent a ripple of heat working through her. Her cheeks warmed and she quickly averted her eyes before anyone else could notice.
“I should change,” she mumbled.
“I’ll come with you,” Killian decided, body already turning towards the doorway. “I’m curious about your room.”
“My … room?”
Juliette hurried after him. No one stopped them as they climbed the steps to the second floor. Juliette led the way down the dark, narrow hallway to the very least for at the end.
“This is it,” she murmured, reaching for the knob.
Killian plucked up one of the photos she’d pinned to the corkboard nailed to her door. They were old, as most of her photos were, but she kept them as a reminder that her life hadn’t always been a nightmare. That there had been a time when she’d been happy. It was a collage of her with her friends. There were a few of her with her parents and even a couple with Stan that, despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to toss. Around it were words she’d cut out of magazines and friendship bracelets she no longer wore. But Killian went straight for the picture of her standing between a group of four other girls. He took it off the board to examine better.
It had been one of the last trips she’d taken with the girls. They stood just outside the iron gate guarding his hill. Looking back on it, she was stunned to realize that all that time, he’d been just on the other side.
“I used to dream of owning a house up there,” she murmured. “My friends and I would drive up and pretend to house shop. We never went as far as the very top, but…”
Killian said nothing. He returned the photo and gave her a nod.
Gingerly, she pushed open the door and stepped inside with him at her heels.
“This is it,” she proclaimed with a wave of her arm.
This, was a four poster bed she’d begged her parents for for nearly six months. It was the matching end tables, dresser, and vanity and their crown molding edges and white paint. The bed took up most of the room, but she had still managed to shove a desk into one corner, a bookshelf in the other and a wooden chest sat at the foot. On the other side of the dresser, was the door to her own personal bathroom. As bedrooms went, it was every teenagers dream. But Juliette hadn’t been a teenage in years, nor had she had enough money to upgrade to something more … adult. Instead, she’d removed most of the girly pictures and posters and had tossed the stuffed animals she’d collected over the years. It no longer resembled a young girls room, but it wasn’t glaring.
Killian wandered to her bed and sat, making her thankful she tidied up that morning, like a part of her had been expecting his visit. There wasn’t a stray pair of pantries in sight.
“Tell me about your sister,” he said, surprising her.
“Vi? Why?”
“Well, you said that’s not normally how she is, so tell me what she’s normally like.”
The question was a reasonable one, maybe even expected, but Juliette had nothing. She stared at him while her mind raced with all the things she ought to know of her own sister, but didn’t. Vi was a stranger.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, ashamed. “I don’t know anything about her. I never wanted to.” Dropping her gaze, she walked over and claimed the spot next to him. Her shoulder bumped his as she studied the knotted fingers in her lap. “I was seven when she was born. I was the only girl on both sides of the family and I was spoiled rotten and I loved it. I never wanted a sister. In my mind, she took away all that love and attention that had been mine from the beginning. I hated her. That hate never went away, not even after Mom died. It just turned into a sort of selfish need to protect the only person I had left. I never took time to see if she was okay. I hadn’t cared that she’d lost her parents as well and was as alone as I was. I stuck her in school or with Mrs. Tompkins and considered my duties complete so long as she had food and a roof over her head.”