Page 57 of Just My Luck

That night, I’d spent hours staring at the ceiling, recalling how peaceful she looked as she slept—dreaming about what it would feel like to be wrapped around her all night in our home.

Our home.

Fuck.

Unable to sleep, I woke with the sun and started on making Sloane and the kids breakfast.

Bleary-eyed, Tillie was the first to walk out of her bedroom and pad down the hallway. I offered a quiet good-morning nod, and she climbed up onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“Morning, Abel.” She rubbed her sleepy eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Hey, Till. I’m making eggs. I hope that’s okay.” I plucked the cooked bacon from the skillet and let it rest on a paper towel.

“Fancy breakfast on a school day?” she asked.

I glanced at her and couldn’t help but smile. The small freckles across the bridge of her nose were nearly identical to Sloane’s, and one dimple was the tiniest bit deeper on one side—just like her mother’s. “It’s not all that fancy.”

She shrugged. “It’s better than Pop-Tarts. Can I have orange juice too?”

“You bet.” I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and moved to the fridge to pour her a cup.

I could feel Tillie’s eyes on my back as she sized me up. “You’re taller than my dad.”

I turned slowly, doing my best to remain calm while I navigated the minefield of a conversation regarding the twins’ father. What I knew about him was limited, but based on what knowledge I did have, there was no universe in which he was ever worthy of a life with Sloane or her quirky, wonderful kids.

I shrugged. “I’m taller than a lot of people.”

My comments struck Tillie as funny, because she burst into a fit of giggles. “Yeah, that’s true. Ben thinks you must work out a lot to get your muscles.”

I laughed and kept making breakfast, wondering when the other two might appear and save me.

Tillie’s eyes focused on her breakfast instead of me. “I like living here. It made me sad that Mom had to sleep on the floor of the cabin.”

The floor? Jesus Christ.

I busied my hands by stirring the eggs and tried not to think of how long Sloane had spent sleeping on a bedroom floor rather than a bed.

When they were finished, I lifted the skillet full of fluffy scrambled eggs. “Eggs?” I asked.

Tillie nodded and slid her plate forward.

I plopped a hearty scoop onto the middle.

“Bacon, too, please,” she said.

I smiled and moved the plate of bacon onto the island, close to her reach. Her little eyebrows scrunched. “Abel, if we stay for a long time, will you sleep on the couch forever?”

I smirked and lifted a shoulder. “Probably.”

Tillie bit into a piece of bacon and frowned. “Mom said you two are friends, and friends share things, right? Maybe you and her could share the bed.”

My stomach flipped on itself. It was hard to argue with simple logic, but so far the kids were in the dark about our current arrangement and its most recent developments. “You’re pretty clever. You know that, kid?”

She smiled, her cheeks full of breakfast. “You should ask her. She takes sharing very seriously.”

“I’ll think about it.” The mere thought of openly sharing a bed with Sloane was enough to send me reeling.

Lost in thought, I barely heard Tillie’s whispered words. “I really like my bedroom. If you kick us out, I think I’ll miss that the most.”

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