Page 29 of Burn for You (Flirting with Forever 3)

I rub my hand over my stubble-coated jaw, an image of Piper’s shocked face as I pulled out of the parking lot last night slamming into me. I’m pretty sure I’d pissed her off good this time. “Soon. I have a good chance at it.”

As Mom sets the plates out on the table, she asks cautiously, “How much extra did you say the pay is per month?”

“It’s a couple hundred, I think. I’ll find out soon enough.”

From where she’s cutting the quiche into triangles, Esme murmurs, “Every last bit helps.” She carries the delicious-smelling food over to the table and sets it on a trivet, laying a serving spatula next to it and sliding into her seat. I glance at the quiche, the basket of muffins, and a trayful of grapes and berries, and my stomach rumbles in appreciation.

Mom comes to the table with a pitcher of ice water and fills the glasses already set out before she sits down. She trains her eyes on me. “You know, Elena was asking about whether she should bother looking at colleges to apply to, or if we’d be better off if she came to work with me at the flower shop. I wasn’t sure what to tell her.”

“She asked me if I knew if there was another receptionist position available where Arabella works, too.” Esme clenches her teeth together. “I don’t think Elena would do well sitting at a desk in a doctor’s office with the job she wants staring her in the face all day.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I could get her a waitressing position, but she really needs to be eighteen so she can serve alcohol.” She frowns. “Not that I think she’d like doing what I do, either.”

I wince. I’ve known this was coming for a while. I was working to put myself through college when Dad passed away. I knew when it happened that the family was now my responsibility. I’d have to step up, be the caretaker, so I’ve done what I could in the last ten years to support us. Dad was a mechanic, and we discovered when he died that our family didn’t have much in the way of savings. Mom hadn’t worked since before I was born because she’d had four children to take care of.

So, there we were, suddenly in a position where we’d needed income in a bad way. Mom started working in the flower shop down on the main street in town, and she’s been there for ten years now. I think she’s happy, but it doesn’t pay much more than the mortgage on the house. Once Arabella was old enough, she’d started working as a receptionist at a doctor’s office and she still holds that position today. I don’t know that she loves it, but it’s a job, and she seems content enough. Esme has waited tables at a popular local restaurant since she got out of high school. She keeps talking about maybe wanting to do something different, like catering, but she’s kind of a free spirit. She does make a mean quiche, though.

Then there’s Elena. She wants to be a nurse, or maybe even a doctor, she says, and I know that means a lot of years of schooling. I don’t have the heart to tell her we don’t really have the money for it. I’ll figure it out. I always have.

At the same time, she’s obviously smart. She knows that money could be a problem, and so she keeps hesitating. Arabella told me last week that she’d tried to talk to Elena about colleges, but Elena brushed her off.

A low growl comes from my throat as I work my jaw back and forth. “I’ll talk to her. She’s going to college. Period.” I yank my chair out and sit.

With a bang of the door, the oldest of my sisters comes in like a hurricane, dropping her bag and rushing to each of us with a hug. “How is everyone today?”

Mom gives Arabella a huge smooch on the cheek when she bends down to give her a hug. “We’re good, Bella. How’s this new young man you’re seeing?”

“Jared is good. He’s hiking today with some of his college buddies or I’d have brought him.” She sits at her place at the table. “So, what were you talking about when I came in?” She peeks out of the corner of her eye at m

e where I’m sitting at the head of the table. “Damon, you sounded a little … gruff.”

“Mom and Esme were telling me that Elena is staging a little rebellion about going to college.”

Arabella rolls her eyes. “Yeah, she was saying maybe she’d take a gap year and just work for a while.”

We fall silent as Elena comes down the back stairs, a blur of jean-clad long legs and a black-and-red NHS sweatshirt.

Mom glances over as Elena sits down and immediately snatches a muffin from the platter and begins eating it. “Elena Madero, where are your manners, honey?”

Through a mouthful of crumbs, she grins at us. “Sorry. I’m starving.”

Mom sighs and motions to us that we should dig in.

Several minutes pass while we tuck into our food. Esme’s soft voice is the first to interrupt the silence. “Elena, how was the dance last night? Did you have fun?”

Elena sucks her lips into her mouth, stealing a look at me before she addresses Esme. “It was good. I mostly just hung out with Marcy, listened to the music, and ate heart-shaped cookies.”

Arabella winks at Elena. “I saw the photos you posted on social media. Your dress was fabulous—all silvery shimmer. Loved it.”

There’s silence for another few seconds as my sisters’ gazes flick around the table, connecting with each other in what has always been scarily accurate nonverbal communication. Anytime my sisters get all quiet like this, I know something is up. Patiently, I wait for whatever they are about to lay on me. Based on the way they are avoiding my stare, it definitely has something to do with me.

“Damon, I saw some photos of you, too. You looked good in your suit. Who was that you were dancing with?” Esme asks. Her voice is soothing, as if to placate me, but her expression is questioning and curious, so it’s obvious she’s interested in my answer.

Ever so slowly, I turn my head, letting my gaze fix on my youngest sister. “Elena. What did you do?” The muscles of my cheek twitch. I’m not really mad, but damn. I hadn’t realized anyone was taking photos.

Esme holds her phone out, one brow raised. “Have a look for yourself, big brother.”

I take it from her and look at the image on the screen.

Piper in my arms.

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