Page 8 of Wanting a Family Man

“You’re not subtle, are you, kid?” He pulled his head back from her grabby hand. “What’s for lunch, Em?”

“There’s an avocado that’s ripe. I’ll warm something from the freezer.” She opened the sliding door and stepped into the kitchen, calling back, “Does anyone want coffee? I thought Logan was making some, but—”

“I’ll make a pot,” Reid said over his shoulder, but stayed on the deck, facing Cloe.

She rose, unsure if she was invited to stay for coffee or not.

Trystan paused in the doorway, staring at Reid’s back while Cloe felt pinned in place by their two pairs of eyes. Her chest tightened as she suffered a flashback to lengthy hours of interrogation and cross-examination.

“I’m going to say it because it needs to be said,” Reid told her matter-of-factly. “When the will was read, it was determined that Tiffany’s portion was absorbed into Dad’s estate. Storm is entitled to a quarter of whatever we wring out of this resort. It will be held in trust until—”

“Oh my God.” Cloe was horrified. And insulted. Maybe a teensy bit ashamed because she bordered on destitute and had distantly hoped they would show her some pity and help her find work or a place to stay, but, “I didn’t come here expecting money! I came here because I needed to see with my own eyes that Storm’s okay. She’s all I have of Tiffany. I’m allshehas of her mother.” The last came out with what shreds of dignity she still possessed. “It’s fine if you don’t want me to be part of your life, but she has a right for me to be part of hers.”

Reid’s cheek ticked. Trystan seemed to be staring holes into his brother’s back, but Cloe was holding Reid’s stare, using every ounce of strength she possessed to keep her chin up and her spine straight.

Behind Reid, Storm grew more agitated.

Reid glanced over his shoulder and the men exchanged a look that seemed telepathic because they didn’t betray much in their stoic expressions. Whatever was said had Reid lifting his brows and giving Cloe a nod as though a matter was resolved.

“Stay for coffee. Let’s talk this out,” Reid said.

Cloe suspected the coffee would burn straight through her stomach lining, but she said “Thanks” and made her unsteady legs hold her long enough to step back into the kitchen.

She took the nearest chair at the kitchen table and watched the three adults perform a sort of ballet. While Trystan secured Storm into her highchair, Emma scattered cereal O’s on her tray. Reid began making coffee and handed Trystan the avocado.

“Am I making enough for Logan and Sophie? Where are they?” Reid looked around as he measured grounds into the basket filter.

“I think they left.” Emma shrugged then glanced to where Trystan was cutting the avocado in half. “Did you get anything out of him while you guys were out today?”

“It was a meeting, not a fishing trip,” Trystan said.

“Tsk.” Emma stirred whatever was in the saucepan on the stove. “I gave you one job.”

Trystan smirked as he brought the half avocado to the table and angled a chair to face Storm. She began to wave her arms and kick her legs as he tied her bib.

“All right, baby bird.” He sat and used a flat spoon to lightly mash the avocado in its shell. “Here comes the grub.”

Storm was already leaning forward with her mouth open.

Cloe smiled as she watched, envious in a whole new way. They all moved so effortlessly as a unit, as though they were used to sharing this space and caring for the baby. They didn’t need words to communicate.

“You should stay for dinner,” Emma said, stirring the pan vigorously so the spoon scraped the bottom in a swirling rasp.

Reid paused in drawing coffee mugs out of a cupboard. He sent his wife a look that Cloe couldn’t read because Emma was on his far side.

Trystan didn’t seem to react beyond a considering look into the mashed avocado.

“I’d like that.” Cloe sensed how hard it had been for Emma to say that and waited for Reid or Trystan to contradict her. It was humiliating how grateful she was for any tiny crumb, but she would take it all the same. “Thank you.”

“Do you take cream or sugar, Cloe?” Reid opened the fridge.

“Black is fine, thanks.”

He nodded and poured two mugs that he brought to the table, leaving one near Trystan. He doctored a third one with cream for Emma, then poured his own.

Trystan rose with the empty avocado shell. Emma took his spot with her bowl of warmed orange mush—yam or carrot, maybe.

Storm immediately tried to grab Emma’s spoon.

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