Page 39 of Sing with Me

Skye nodded.

“I might learn to play the guitar.”

“There you go.”

“Or I can hang around you and Marlo when you cook. Teach me some knife skills?”

Did she want him that close in proximity in the kitchen?

The oven chimed. Skye wore mittens before she opened the oven door. Her eggs-in-a-nest looked perfect. She still felt awkward that Diehl had asked her to sit with him at the breakfast table to eat the bacon. She could not assume it meant the rest of breakfast too.

The pan was hot. She placed it on the island counter on top of a trivet. “Would you like to use the same plate?”

“Yes.” Diehl brought his and her plates over to the island. “Eat with me?”

“I was going to save you the rest of the eggs for later.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to reheat them. They’d only taste rubbery, right?”

“Not if you don’t overheat them. Besides, I need to do the dishes and leave.”

“Go after breakfast. I can tell we enjoy each other’s company.”

True. Skye nodded.

“We get along very well.”

Skye nodded again.

“It’s only breakfast.”

Right.

“It’s just us, two friends who are here at this moment in time,” Diehl added. “Who knows what’s in store for us? Maybe we’ll be friends after this summer. Maybe not. For now, let’s enjoy the day while it lasts.”

Friends.

That wasn’t so bad.

He was only a friend, not a new fling.

Chapter Eleven

Diehl’s kids arrived in town exhausted and cranky, and he didn’t know how to deal with their emotions. It had been a year since their mother passed away, although they hardly saw her in the six months prior to her death. No one here in the States saw her, not even her own parents in Hawaii. Isobel had spent her last months in Italy on her own—supposedly.

Adult problems aside, Diehl now had a problem with his twelve-year-old. Elisa refused to speak to him. No “Hi, Dad!” and no hugs. To think, she was his hugger. And talker. Every time she had been away from him, they’d talk at least once a day on the phone about everything.

Now his daughter wouldn’t look at him in the eyes.

Oddly enough, a couple of years before, Elisa had been Dad’s little girl. At that time, Ethan had the tantrums. The only way Diehl could speak to him was to ply him with gifts. Bribes. Today, the situation was reversed.

“What’s going on, Elisa?” Diehl asked point blank as Elisa walked past him, ignoring him almost, and dragged her hot pink rolling carry-on behind him, following Cara.

“Cara, stop a minute.” Diehl remained in the foyer.

The housekeeper—and once Diehl’s childhood nanny—turned around and brought Elisa back to him. They left her carry-on in the hallway.

“Elisa, are you okay?”

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