Page 33 of Rejected Exile

"I didn't—well, technically, I did, I guess."

"Then we're here to do the work." He glances into the house, eyes straying over my shoulder, and I hear Cat moving around somewhere behind me. "We can come back if now isn’t a good time, since you have a guest."

"It's just my foster mom."

Glancing behind the door, I search for Cat—and find her standing off to the side, eyes wide, staring at me with an O shape to her mouth. She makes a motion towards the front porch—then whips out her hand and fans herself dramatically. Arching her back, she throws herself towards the counter and mimes being overcome by attraction, fisting her hand in her skirt.

In a dry tone, I tell Lance, "She'll be right out to introduce herself to you."

"Oh yes, of course!" Cat drops the act, steps out in front of the door, and grins at the guys. I try to shoot a warning look in her direction, but she doesn't pay me a single moment's notice. "I'm Catherine Banks, Delilah's foster mom—though if you ask me, I'm far too young for the role. Most people think we're sisters."

I have to swallow a laugh and a few choice words at that. It's true that Cat is young to be my biological mother, and shelooksyounger than she is, but she's clearly hamming it up for the guys. She blatantly checks them out, not even trying to hide what she's doing.

Lance politely says, "Nice to meet you, ma'am. Do you mind if we bring all of this in?"

"Not at all. You're welcome to come inside anytime." Cat shoots a grin in my direction. "Isn't that right, Lilah?"

"Lilah," Lance muses, "that's a good nickname for her."

"Isn't it though?"

Clearly this is going nowhere fast. The last thing I wanted or expected today was a few unexpected sexy visitors, but I might as well accept the guys in graciously. Trio of hotties or not, they're here to help out—and none of them is Kieran, though just having Roarke here is enough to make my stomach drop, as I know how close the two of them were, and likely still are. It's hard to even face him, knowing that he was there when I was rejected.

I steel myself for it, though. It helps that I know now I'm not shiftless and never was. The rejection feels less brutal than it was at the time.

"Come on in." I motion the guys inside, barely able to stop the heat that crawls from my neck down to my chest as I remember how filthy, tired, and hungover I look. "Most of the bathroom stuff is for the downstairs half bath for guests. That toolbox is for me, thanks, just put it on the kitchen table. You can leave those two by fours outside, Finn—they're for the porch. Let me see the inventory list."

Item by item, Lance and I check everything I ordered off the list. The only thing that hasn't arrived yet is the new siding shingles; that'll take a contractor to take care of. Everything else, from the heavy-duty sander to the hardwood floor finish, is here.

And seeing it brought into the house and piled everywhere just reminds me how much still has to be done. The house has so much work that it needs, and I don't even know what I'm going to do with it once it's all done.

"So, what do you want to take care of first?" Lance asks me, his voice a deep rumble. "We'll be here all day."

"I have to think about it." Glancing at Cat, I ask her, "Can you?"

"I'll get everything organized for you, Lilah."

"Great. I just need a breath of fresh air."

It feels like I'm running away as I leap outside to the front porch, a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat. The number of tasks sitting in front of me is daunting. But what really frightens me is just how many major decisions I have to make about my life.

Hanging over it all is the cloud of mystery that surrounds the chip in my neck and the choices my father made—about me, about the curse, and everything.

Stepping to the rotting porch railing, I lean against it—only to have to jump back a moment later when it finally crumbles and falls off, leaving a gaping hole in the porch.

"Great," I mutter, staring down at the wrecked wood on the ground, "Just my luck."

Turning away, I sigh—and come face-to-face with two impossibly handsome men at once. For some reason I'd thought Finn and Roarke were inside with Lance, but they're out here, leaning awkwardly against the side of the house near a pile of unfinished wood they lugged up the stairs.

I blink at them. Roarke is staring at me with something like guilt on his face, while Finn just looks thoughtful, his left brow raised a little in the middle.

"I just came out here to think," I blurt out, as if I need an excuse to stand on my own front porch. "It's a lot of responsibility—this old house. A lot to... think about."

Shit, I sound dumb.

But Finn chuckles a little, the warmth in his tone calming me. "We were out here thinking, too. Or at least Bell over here was—I've mostly just been watching him and saying a few words of encouragement."

"You're never encouraging," Roarke shoots back, an irritated expression crossing his face. His voice, so much deeper and richer now that he's grown, sends confusing feelings through me. I still can't reconcile the boy I knew with the man standing in front of me.

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