Page 12 of Kristoff

Pushing the door open, I step into the kitchen. Celia’s at the stove, a white apron tied around her waist. Harlan sits at the table with a plate of German sausage, scrambled eggs, sliced tomatoes, and thick, buttered toast in front of him.

Back home, he was never one for breakfast or vegetables. She got him started eatingpapo seco, a traditional Portuguese bread roll, stuffed with egg, bacon, and cheese. Then she moved him over to a vegetarian curry with roti.

He tries to pretend otherwise, and he might even think he’s fooling someone, but we both know he’s here to spend time with her. The Portuguese beauty would have him wrapped around her little finger if she only gave him half a chance.

He glances up, his chewing slowing down as I head to the fridge. “Morning,” he drawls, with all the finesse of a Southerner. A surprise in itself, since he’d never been south of Jersey.

I raise an eyebrow. “Morning.” I grab the milk to fix a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Kristoff,” she replies. “What would you like for breakfast?”

Swinging the door closed, I point to my brother. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“You’re in a mighty fine mood this morning,” she adds with a smile.

I grab one of the large white cups and pour my coffee, adding milk and sugar.

Harlan grins from the end of the table. “That’s because my brother got him some last night.”

Silence stretches out until it’s ready to shatter. Understanding dawns, and Celia whirls back to the stove, back going stiff. The glare I aim in his direction should be enough to char the forkful of sausage he’s shoving into his mouth. But no, he continues as smug as the images of roosters Celia’s brought to set around the kitchen.

I foolishly hoped we’d been quiet enough not to draw attention, but that was too much to be expected. Still, why would he bring up what he heard in front of her?

The mention of sex wouldn’t have her faint dead away. Quite the opposite. When we first arrived, she was barely of age and fighting the pressure of turning to prostitution. Arguably the prettiest girl in the area, she would stand to make an enviable amount of money if she were persuaded to turn to service. Thought she’d probably lose a friend or two.

Harlan dragged her in and gave her a job without knowing a single thing about her or what he’d have her do. Luckily, I managed to keep from punching him because she turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Now she cooks, helps tend bar, cleans, and takes care of the laundry.

I don’t know if we would have been as successful without her. And I hope I don’t ever have to find out.

“That is a good thing,” she says without looking up. “Erica could use the money.”

I’m lucky I’ve already swallowed the drink of coffee; otherwise, I’d be choking on it. Of course, who else would she expect? There’s no way to correct her without calling attention to the fact I have someone upstairs who may be on the run. I can’t out Brianna, not knowing her story.

Harlan lets out a low whistle. “You must have paid well if she spent the whole night.”

And there he goes, sticking his foot in his mouth.

Celia cocks her head, a frown marring her features. “Erica stayed here?”

Even if she and Erica weren’t lifelong friends, the village is small enough for everyone to know everyone else’s business. Erica’s got two young kids at home she shouldn’t leave alone all night. Though she didn’t bother to hide her interest, I passed on the proposition. It didn’t stop her from asking again, but it was never going to happen.

“No,” I say, glaring at Harlan over the edge of my coffee cup again. As usual, he plows through, without giving a second thought to what he’s saying. It’s moments like this I’d love to smack him upside the head because, regardless of his age, he’ll always be my little brother.

“So…” Eyebrows high and questioning, Celia holds up an egg, motioning toward the pan. “Do I add more?”

Now that I don’t have to worry about keeping a secret, I can give up any pretense. “Go ahead and give me two plates.” This way she can have enough to satisfy her appetite. If it’s anywhere as big as mine, she’ll need a plate of her own.

Celia’s back is straight, and she looks anywhere but at me. She’s visibly uncomfortable, but I don’t know why. In the years we’ve been here, I’ve never spent an extra second looking at anyone in particular. Much less indulging in anything physical. Maybe realizing I have the same needs as any man makes me more human, or maybe she feels I’m a threat. Either way, it’s put a damper on my morning.

Harlan straightens in his chair and sets his fork down. His eyebrows draw together as he takes a drink from his cup. “Well, if not Erica, then who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply, in my best courtroom voice.

Celia stopped stirring the eggs to hear my answer. The silence grows heavy, locking us in place until the toaster pops and breaks the tension. She moves to retrieve the toast while he picks up his fork and continues with breakfast.

“I’m going to ask you to keep this to yourself.” If I say more, he’ll inadvertently cause a problem. Well, Harlan being Harlan, he’s sure to cause a problem. “Hell, at this point, just stay away from the second floor.”

“So you’re not going to tell us anything about this mystery woman?” he marvels.

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