Page 85 of A Very Addicted Christmas

I have two tasks.

One:Prove that someone else heard the notification. Which will in turn prove that Connor is not immortal. His hearing is the first thing to go.

Two:Find out why Eliot was in the lake last night.

My son is the talk of Christmas Eve morning. Everyone heard about the midnight dip dare, and Ben even asked, “how did you not get frost bite?”

To which Eliot replied with a wry grin, “I’m immune.”

Ugh. He’s too much like his father for his own good. Though I’m sure Connor could say the same about me and Eliot’s flair for dramatics.

I need to simmer considerably before focusing on task two, so I find my sisters in the kitchen baking banana bread. The smell of charred Teflon immediately greets me.

“What are we burning this morning?” I ask, glancing at the freshly baked loaf and a tray of muffins. Unless the bottoms are singed black, they don’t appear to be burnt.

Daisy scrapes a frying pan in the sink. “Nothing to see or smell here.” She gives me a bright smile that I take as bullshit considering Lily’s brows are so furrowed, she might be causing permanent forehead wrinkles.

“Lily,” I say.

She caves instantly. “I didn’t think it was possible to burn eggs. Aren’t they un-burnable? I thought they just turn into rubber….rubber eggs.”

“Totally,” Daisy says into a nod. “I think it’s the frying pan’s fault.”

I offer my support by saying, “The muffins look edible.”

Lily beams. “They are. We didn’t burn those.”

I open the fridge. “Do you need me to help? I can make…” I try to find something in here I’m coordinated enough to whip up.Bacon. No. Last time I tried, grease flung at my face. I see the strawberries. “Fruit.”

“A fruit bowl would be fantastic,” Lily says, trying to scoot Daisy out of the sink so she can wash the pan, but Daisy won’t relinquish the task.

“I have it,” Daisy says, hiking her leg on the counter, basically bear-hugging the sink so Lily can’t intervene.

“I’m the one who burned the un-burnable eggs,” Lily says. “You hate washing dishes.”

“We all hate washing dishes, and I’m enjoying scrubbing this bad boy.”

I give Lily a sharp look. “You should be reveling in this time where we take these menial tasks off your hands.”

“Rose would be milking this all year,” Daisy tells her.

“Into the next year,” I add.

Lily nods slowly, trying to shelve her misplaced guilt.

I wish she would embrace us trying to pamper her. “This won’t last forever, so soak it in now.”

She smiles more and finally backs away from the frying pan. “Thanks,” she says to both of us.

I would doanythingfor my sisters. Relinquishing the fight for the best bedroom and helping in the kitchen is basic.

I open the container of strawberries, then grab a cutting board and a knife. “Did either of you get the camera notification last night?”

“I have my notifications turned off,” Daisy admits, elbow-deep in soap suds. “Ryke does too because they’ll usually wake me up.”

Lily slides the muffins onto a serving dish. “I slept through it. So did Lo.” She frowns. “You and Connor didn’t hear it?” The way she says it—like we’re gods with bionic hearing—makes me hate admitting the truth.

“The windchimes are a horrid choice as a sound tone,” I say. “I’ve already switched it to a siren.”

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