Page 33 of Tempting Wyatt
But for some reason, I’m no longer hungry.
I stand and lift my plate. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
Willow glares at her brother. “See what you did?”
Isaac opens his mouth to protest, but I speak before he can.
“No one did anything, I promise,” I tell them. “I’m just super full and exhausted from today.”
“I can take you down to your cabin in just a minute,” Isaac tells me.
“No rush.” I gesture to the half of a steak remaining on his plate. “Finish your dinner.”
Isaac lets out a soft laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
My face heats. I didn’t mean it as an order. I meant he didn’t need to cut his meal short to get me back to the cabin.
“You know what I mean. Take your time. I’ll go help clean up in the kitchen.”
I join Laurel, where she’s lining up clear glass jars on the counter. Sutton is nowhere to be seen. I gesture to my half-empty plate, wondering if I should rake the remains of my dinner into the garbage.
“Do I just throw this away or?—”
“You can put it in that bowl over there,” Laurel says, wiping her hands on her cherry-covered apron and gesturing to a large oval bin at the end of the opposite counter. “Isaac will take it down to the dogs. Sometimes, they eat better than we do.”
I hadn’t seen any dogs today, but I do as I’m told then glance around at the clean kitchen. The dishes from dinner must be in the dishwasher already.
“Anything I can do?”
Laurel hands me a strainer full of raspberries. “You can rinse these if you’d like. Last batch of the season. I’m about to make jam.”
Grateful for something to do with myself, I rinse them thoroughly.
“Sutton okay?”
Laurel sighs deeply. “She will be.”
After I rinse several strainers of berries, we switch places.
“Pour them in that big pot on the stove,” she tells me.
I do, and then I watch as she stares out the window above the sink. I can’t help but wonder if she’s worried about Wyatt too. The nagging feeling that I’m the reason he isn’t here won’t stop tugging at the edge of my awareness.
“I’m sorry if my being here is causing any issues,” I tell her when she hands me a large spoon to stir the berries.
She waves away my concern with a hand. “Trust me, hon,our issues go way back. It’s lovely having you here. And I hope you’ll continue to join us for dinner, but don’t feel obligated. We’re. . . a lot.”
I can’t help but smile. “I like it,” I tell her. “The banter, the big family.”
Trying not to pour my heart out the way she’s pouring sugar into the pot, I continue. “I grew up moving around a lot. Apartments. My mom is not. . . ” I start to saymaternal, but that doesn’t feel fair. My mom did the best she could, but she never wanted a kid, and then I disrupted her life and got her kicked out of her house. “Let’s just say, making jam was not her thing. We survived on diner food from wherever she was waitressing at the time. And I ate a lot of TV dinners home alone.” I nod to the dining room, where Isaac and Willow’s conversation is a steady hum. “This is like the real-life version of the shows I used to watch.”
She smiles warmly. “I’m glad we haven’t scared you away yet.”
I try not to gape as she pours more sugar in the pot, nearly covering the berries completely. Then she pours a little more. No measuring cup. Just measuring with her heart.
I kind of love her.
The fact that everyone in this family is so fit and non-diabetic while consuming this much sugar is a miracle.
