Page 26 of Serial Burn

“You’re going to need security in light of recent events.”

“Yes. I know. I’ll start looking into that.”

He tilted his head and Jesslyn gulped at how handsome he was. Seriously, he was going to be a distraction.

“Tell me about your family,” he said.

She pushed away these romantic leanings. “I don’t talk about them much. Not because I don’t want to, but sometimes when I do, I go down the ‘what if’ road. And the ‘I wish’ highway. I don’t like going there. You would think after all these years, the sting of the grief would have lessened.” She paused and frowned. “I mean, I suppose it has. But the anger hasn’t. It’s still as raw as it was when I finally understood someone had set the fire on purpose and killed them.”

He nodded, his gaze compassionate, hurting for her. She shifted, not sure what to do with that. She was used to pity, but this was different. There was no pity, just ... empathy. “I don’t remember much about my sisters. I have flashes here and there when something triggers a memory, but I do remember Maria liked dolls. She was all about the dolls. The more the merrier. Gabby was the tomboy. She wanted to play baseball and carried around a little pink ball glove. She loved watching sports with my dad. Even at that young age.” She smiled. “They were cute, but I do remember they drove me crazy some days.”

“Siblings can do that.”

“Speaking of siblings, you never did tell me your story.”

He stiffened and pulled back. “What story?”

She quirked a brow at him. “The one you don’t like to talk about.”

If she’d sucker punched him, the look on his face would have been about the same. “What makes you say that?”

“A feeling.”

His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen with a sigh. “Do you mind if I take this? It’s my brother.”

“Don’t mind at all. Enjoy the reprieve.”

“Not exactly sure that’s what I’d call it,” he muttered, “but thanks.”

NATHAN STEPPED INTO THE KITCHENand answered the call. Only because in some weird way, talking to Eli seemed safer than talking about his past. “What can I do for you, Eli?” His gaze roamed her kitchen that boasted cream-colored cabinets and white-speckled granite countertops. The window over the sink was framed with gray curtains that had a subtle pattern of circles on them.

“Mom is doing Saturday brunch. Can you be there?”

“Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe.” Nathan raised his eyes to the ceiling, noting the smooth white surface. “What time?”

“Nine thirty.”

“Who else is going to be there?”

“All of us. If you’ll come.”

So far the man hadn’t said anything about Nathan’s need for therapy. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch, Natty. Mom’s just making a meal. Her usual. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, and hash browns.”

Eli had used his childhood nickname once again. He shuddered and ignored that. “She hates to cook.”

“But she’s good at it, she loves us, and she knows we’ll come if she does it.”

That was true. She’d cooked two meals a day, sometimes three, when he and his siblings were growing up. When their baby sister finally went away to college, she said she was done cooking on a regular basis. She’d only do it once in a while and when she chose to.

Apparently, Saturday was the day. “I think I can make it.”

“Think?”

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