Burned: A Stepbrother Romance (14 page)

Mom pats a space on the sofa next to her. “Seen anyone you know yet?”

“Aaron, at the gas station.”

Mom shakes her head. “That good-for-nothing. Been working at his daddy’s station since you left.”

I clear my throat. “And Dan.”

“Dan Winter?”

“Yeah, he’s a sheriff now.”

“Fine young man,” Dad chips in. “Done this town an awful lot of good since you’ve been gone.”

Mom winks. “Bit of a looker too, if you know what I mean.”

I slap her playfully on the shoulder. “Mom! Jesus. I’m here one minute and you’re already trying to hook me up. We agreed…”

She puts her hands out in supplication. “Yes, yes, I know what we agreed, but a mother can dream, can’t she?”

I smile. It comes out naturally. “It’s good to see you guys.”

“Good to see you too, hon,” they reply in unison.

My old room’s exactly as I left it, right down to the diary on the shelf and the dusty CDs on my desk.

I stretch out on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
You’re here. You’re home.

For the first time in a long time my inbox is empty when I open up my laptop. I check the usual feeds, call my editor, but it all seems so distant now.

Dan shows up bang on eight. It looks amusing having a police car out front until I remember the last time one was here.

Dan’s dressed casually when he steps out. Gone is the beige and badge to be replaced by a tight-fitting tee and jeans that hug him in all the right places. I have to admit, he’s looking fucking fine.

He approaches me with his hands in his pockets. I stand above him on the porch, leaning against the timberwork for support lest my knees weaken and I should have to be whisked away for treatment.

Pfft, yeah, right.

“Sorry, Alice, but every restaurant in town’s booked up solid tonight.”

“Is there still just the one?”

He kicks the dust. “Man, I just can’t get anything past you. Yeah, just the one, Torony’s, I’m afraid. This isn’t exactly the hub of fine dining New York is.”

“No McDonalds?”

“Not yet, but give it time. Although it looks the same, things are changing around here. You’ll see it firsthand soon enough.”

I shift my eyes down to his chest. “Not everything has changed, it seems.”

“I try to keep myself in shape. I don’t play ball any more, but I coach the little ones. Passes the time.”

If he had a puppy tucked under his arm he couldn’t be more adorable, and that’s the problem. He seems
too
perfect. We’d settle down, have 2.5 kids and journey to the one fancy restaurant in town on Saturday night with our coupon and enjoy our one night out a month. I could never do it. I’m too much of a free spirit. I’m too reckless for him.

I twist my lips together. “What shall we do then?”

“Have dinner with us!”

I almost collapse into Dan’s arms in shock as Mom blows in behind me.

She’s got her apron on. “I’ve cooked enough for everybody.”

“Were you eavesdropping, Mom?”

She slaps me with her oven mitt. “Never! Now, what do you say?”

“I really don’t think-” I start, but Dan interrupts. “Sure, Mrs Everett, if you think it’s no problem.”

“Nothing is a problem for you, Dan. You know you’re welcome any time.”

I shake my fist to the heavens and bring it back to my side just as Dan takes my elbows. “I hope that’s okay?”

I give in. “Sure, why the hell not?”

We head inside. Mom wasn’t kidding. She’s made enough to feed the entire town. The table couldn’t get any more colorful.

That aside, I have no complaints about her cooking. I’ve missed these roasts and cook-ups. Wholesome just-add-butter home cooking like this is hard to find in the Big Apple. There are only so many cronuts, Nutella scrolls and blueberry buckwheat waffles one can consume, after all.

Mom and I are seated on one side of the table, Dan and Dad on the other. A cuckoo clock from Mom and Dad’s Great European Adventure (Read: generic bus tour) chimes on the wall to mark the hour.

“Tell me, Dan,” says Dad, passing down the potatoes, “how’s the job?”

“Good, Mr Everett.”

Mr Everett?
I stifle laughter by shoving a roasted carrot into my mouth.

“You see,” Dan continues, “crime doesn’t rest. Those Millertown boys certainly keep us on our toes. You’ve heard about the robberies, the shootings, of course?”

“Damn terrible thing.”

“We’ve apprehended two of them over the last week, but it’s hard to plug up the flow, you know?”

“Those bikers?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Millertown?” I query. “Did I miss something?”

“It’s not like you remember, hon,” says Mom. “The mill shut down and the place went to the doghouse. I wouldn’t even drive through it myself.”

Dad gives her a knowing nod. “Very wise, Mrs Everett. Best to steer clear.”

All I see is a story title. “You think the crime stems mainly from Millertown?”

Dan wipes his mouth. “Oh, I know it, Alice. They’re become pretty brazen, too. Most of these burglaries were carried out in broad daylight. Millertown had a bit of a rep when you and I were in school, but now it’s worse than 1980s New York, full of low-lives and street scum. Like your dad said, steer clear.”

“Hmpf,” is my only reply.

Inwardly, just one thing is running through my mind: You
have
to get there.

Dad spears another forkful of beans. “Say, Alice, did you know Dan here did a tour of Afghanistan?”

This is news. I turn to him. “You were in in the Army?”

He looks down at his food. “Yeah, for a year or two there.”

“Wow,” and I mean it.

Dad claps him on the shoulder. “Making us proud, he was. Serving your country is a wonderful thing, son, but there’s just as much that needs doing here in Rosie. Am I right?”

Dan nods again, but something’s off. Talk of the Army has spooked him. I make a mental note to enquire further.

Mom puts down her knife and fork, always a dangerous sign. “Dan hasn’t had much luck on the lady front, Alice. Pickings are slim around here, as you know.”

He laughs. “Thanks, Mrs Everett, but I’m doing just fine.”

She waves it off. “Oh Dan, I think you and Alice would make such a cute couple.”

Suddenly Mom jumps out of her seat, shaking her finger at me. “Alice! What did you kick me for?

I roll my eyes, “God, Mom! Just… leave it.”

Dan can’t stop sniggering. It’s nice to see him happy. He was always so damn serious in school. I heard his pop had a mean right hook. He often showed up with Exhibit A in the form of a shiny black bruise around his eye the next day. Apparently his folks passed not long after I left.

Mom won’t stop. “I’m just saying, he’s a real catch.”

I place my own utensils down. “So why don’t
you
go out with him?”

“Oh, Alice. What would your father think?”

My parents exchange a sickly air kiss. I want to spew up all over the table. “I came back for this?”

I’m thankful when Dan changes the subject. “How are you finding being back, Alice?”

“It’s,” I hunt for the right word, “nice. Quiet, for sure. I almost miss the sirens.”

Dan pipes up. “I can help out with that, cruise the patrol car past and give the sirens a blast at 2am. Don’t think it would go down so well with your neighbors, but the offer’s there.”

I give him a mock hat-tip. “Thank you, sir.”

The small talk continues, but none of it probes into the deeper issues at hand. I help Mom wash up as Dad and Dan discuss sports in the den. Normally I’d be averse to such stereotypical gender roles, but here in Rosie it almost seems unnatural not to go with it.

“I’m serious,” Mom says, examining her make-up in the mirror of a dish she’s drying, “you should jump on him before someone else snaps him up.”

“Jump on him? Can you even hear yourself?”

She shakes her dish towel. “You know what I mean. Have some fun. Let your hair down.”

I peer around the corner as Dad lambasts Dan with his ‘I could have been a quarterback’ story. The poor bastard gives me a knowing wink.

Possibility swirls. “Maybe I will.”