Page 67 of Where the Heart Is

‘One of us had to be the designated driver, and with you guzzling those martinis …’ He made a skolling motion with his hand to his mouth, and she laughed.

‘Thanks for this afternoon, little brother. I had a great time catching up.’

‘Me too.’ He squeezed her shoulder, and she leaned her head against his hand for a moment, before straightening. ‘Now, I hope you’ve got the patience of a saint because Brett can’t sit still long enough to solve maths problems and takes forever to complete any English tasks.’

Sawyer froze, his blood turning to ice. He could be jumping to conclusions. There could be any number of reasons why a tenyear-old boy couldn’t sit still to do his homework: he hated school, would rather be outside playing sport, he’d had a rough day and was tired. He should know. He’d used all those excuses and more.

But there could be another, more serious reason his nephew couldn’t sit still or took a long time to problem-solve. A learning difficulty. Or ADHD.

After all, it ran in the family.

Before he could ask a question, Alli continued. ‘Then again, it’s not just confined to homework. I hear the same thing at parent–teacher interviews. ‘Brett’s a great kid but can’t sit still in class. Brett’s a daydreamer. Brett prefers to be outdoors than confined inside. Blah, blah, blah.’ Her smile was that of an indulgent mother. ‘As long as my kids are happy and healthy, I don’t care. We can’t all be brain surgeons, right?’

‘Right.’

But kids who have genuine learning disabilities or ADHD can be diagnosed and help was available, two things he wished he’d known growing up.

He often wondered how different his life could’ve been if he’d been aware of what he was dealing with earlier, and if he could help his nephew in any way, he would.

However, before he could reveal his diagnosis to Alli, the kids ran into the kitchen and the moment was lost. He’d find another time. Time when he could stand up and be the uncle he hadn’t been until now.

CHAPTER

40

Adelaide closed the bungalow door behind Mila and leaned against it.

What the hell had happened before her granddaughter had arrived for an impromptu visit?

One minute she’d been intent on thanking Jack for his thoughtfulness with the easel and paints, the next she’d been groping him.

And the rest.

She’d never been an overly sexual person but with Jack and those kisses … she hadn’t been so turned on in all her life. At her age, the occasional sex she had with Raven was more about intimacy than the physical act. Truth be told, she enjoyed the snuggling afterwards a hell of a lot more than the actual mechanics. But with Jack kissing her, his damp skin beneath her exploring hands, his erection pressing into her … she’d been obsessed with taking it all the way, the two of them naked, skin to skin.

At least they’d had a chance to talk about it, but if Mila hadn’t shown up when she did, who knows what might’ve happened? Because the way she’d been feeling, Adelaide would’ve happily insisted they move their discussion into the bedroom.

Back home, when she was this rattled, she’d paint. And now, thanks to Jack, she could.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, she pushed off the door and crossed the room. Just staring at the blank canvas evoked peace, and after changing into the oldest shirt she’d brought with her, she picked up the piece of wood serving as a palette and squeezed blobs of paint onto it. Even the squelch of paint out of the tube comforted her and by the time she picked up her brush, she knew what she’d paint.

A calming mix of blues and greens slashed across the canvas with broad strokes became more precise as the picture she imagined in her head came to life. She lost track of time through the repetition of movement—dab, sweep, swirl—grateful for the escape her art provided. It always did and she should thank Jack again for the gift he’d given her.

Though this time, with less mauling.

Adelaide had no idea if she’d been painting for thirty minutes or three hours when she heard a knock at the door. She blinked and swiped a hand across eyes, laying the paintbrush and makeshift palette down, before crossing the studio to open the door.

Her heart rate instantly sped up.

‘Hey, Jack. What brings you by?’

She managed to sound saucy and annoyed at the same time, and he reacted accordingly with a slight frown. So she still confused the heck out of him. That much hadn’t changed.

‘I’m throwing some pasta together; thought you might like some?’

‘What’s the time?’

‘Almost six.’

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