Page 32 of Life To My Flight

“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed.

He shrugged. “Been there, done that.”

I’d had that happen, too.

That didn’t mean it was fun, however.

“I’m hungry,” I said as I turned towards the kitchen.

There was no point in me getting dressed now. He’d already seen me in what I was wearing. Then again, he’d dressed me in what I was wearing.

And neither the shirt, nor the panties, were what I’d put on the previous morning.

“I put the soup that was in your front seat in the kitchen by the sink. I had my sister bring some soup, though. That shit you got was disgusting looking,” he said.

I stopped short and turned to look at him.

“Which sister?” I asked.

All of his sister’s didn’t like me. However one of them, Molly, hated me with a passion.

She was the baby in the family, and was the most possessive of her brother. She didn’t feel like anyone was good enough for Cleo, and had told me so. The words she’d used hadn’t been as eloquent, but it was nearly the same.

“Mikayla,” he answered.

I relaxed instantly. There was no way I was going to eat anything that was made by Molly, but Mikayla I’d do. Mikayla was the oldest of the Caruso horde. Mikhail the second. Followed by Meredith, and finally Molly.

They were a very tight group, and it’d take a small miracle to become one of their group. Even the sister’s own husbands were barely tolerated.

Cleo probably didn’t even realize that his sisters were so protective of him, either.

“Thank God,” I exhaled.

He looked at me sharply. “Why do you say that?”

I rolled my eyes and went to the crockpot that was in the corner of my kitchen counter.

My kitchen wasn’t much to look at. White cabinets, white tiled counter, with a white tiled backsplash.

The floor was diner checkered black and white linoleum, and the appliances were basic white.

It looked awful, but at least it was clean.

Something that I’d had to work my ass off to accomplish when I’d first moved in.

“Probably because your sister’s hate my guts. Molly more than most. I was just thankful that Mikayla brought it. She’s too critical about her food to mess it up with poison,” I said as I reached for a bowl.

Cleo’s big body warmed my back as he effortlessly lifted his arm and brought down two bowls.

A normal sized one for me, and what amounted to a mixing bowl for him.

“They’re not that bad,” he admonished as he made himself at home, scooping up soup for the both of us, and then setting them on the table.

I followed behind him dutifully as I grabbed spoons, and sat down at the table.

“Whatever you say, Cleo-Patrick,” I said as I took my first spoonful of soup.

The liquid hit my tongue, bursting with flavor. However, when it hit my throat, it felt like shards of glass on the way down.

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