Page 77 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

“It’s not like you follow the diet anyway,” she muttered. She instantly wished she could take back her words, knowing they weren’t true, and that it was an unfair dig.

It didn’t help that he seemed less larger-than-life than usual today. More humble and subdued, like a kid afraid he was going to be kicked out.

But she had a right to her anger. It was him lying about his diet that had put two of her careers on the rocks.

“Actually,” Athena said, feeling a sudden lightness as she thought of the perfect excuse to have him leave, “Chadwick doesn’t do pancakes. And tonight is breakfast and games.”

His mouth dropped open and his eyes cast downward, hiding the flash of pain that had crossed them like lightning through a night sky.

“Chad, hon,” Darianna said, shooting Athena a look of disappointment, “you are always welcome here. And you don’t have to eat pancakes. We’re serving other things as well. We’ll put on extra scrambled eggs and whole grain toast, won’t we, Athena? Do you like eggs?”

He nodded and everyone was silent for a beat, Athena feeling put in her place for being rude and unwelcoming.

“And actually,” he said quietly, “I do eat pancakes. I just haven’t in a long time.”

“Well, if you want them, we have them. If you don’t, no harm done. Now let’s get this show on the road. Everyone must be hungry.” Darianna wheeled into the kitchen, taking charge. Meddy set the table while Neandro began piling ingredients on the counter. Chad went to the back door off the kitchen and let his little dog in from the fenced yard.

“He’s such a sweet boy,” her mom said, referring to the hulking, strong man. She lifted her voice and patted her lap, cooing at the puppy, “Come here, you little ragamuffin.”

The dog was across the room in a few bounds, landing on her lap and curling into a ball as if he’d done it all his life.

What on earth had gone on here today?

“You adopted it?” Athena asked Chad.

“It has a name,” he said pointedly, obviously feeling enough at home to poke at her.

“Stitches,” Meddy said.

“You named him Stitches?”

“Nah, Brant did. It kind of works, don’t you think?”

Athena shrugged.

“What can I do to help, Mrs. Gavras?” Chad asked, standing beside her wheelchair.

With a smile, she rolled backward. “Call me Darianna. You good with a knife?”

“Not especially, but he still has all of his digits,” Athena muttered.

Chad wiggled his fingers to prove it.

“Good enough for this kitchen. Make the fruit salad, dear.” Her mom gestured to the fruit bowl in the middle of the counter, giving Athena a warning glance, before turning warmly to the hockey player. “Whatever you want in the salad, chop up and put in the big bowl. Athena, you make the eggs,” she added. “And Neandro, did you start the sausage?”

He tilted the sizzling pan in his wife’s direction.

“Don’t drop them!” She laughed, and he quickly swung the pan, tipping the rolling turkey sausages back to safety.

Chad smiled, seeming comfortably ensconced in her family’s kitchen. What. On. Earth?

It was going to be difficult staying upset with a man who fit here. A man who was at home in the heart of everything that mattered to her.

Mullens knew he was pushing it with Athena by staying for supper. Not replying to his texts last week had sent a pretty clear message, as had her little conversational digs in front of her family. She wanted him to go away and stay away.

But there was no way he could pry himself out of this kitchen, even though, for her sake, he probably should. It was like a hook had been sunk in deep, anchoring him here.

He’d missed joking around in the kitchen and being part of a family.

---