Page 87 of The Choices I've Made
The tension broke between us, causing me to nearly topple back from the force of it. If there was anyone on the planet who could see right through my bullshit, it was my little sister.
“I’ve got to serve breakfast but afterward?”
“Sure. I’ll go for a run first. Don’t get too busy though. I want some quality time with my big sister before I go.”
I shook my head. “You mean, you want me to pack your stuff before you go.”
“Well, sure, if you’re offering.” She shrugged, a sly grin stretched across her face.
“For a girl who travels for a living, it’s a wonder you don’t have this down to a science.”
“Maybe I do, and I’m just using this as an excuse,” she said before rising from the table.
I watched her saunter across the kitchen, cleaning off her plate and mug with a quick rinse before dropping them in the dishwasher. She hopped over in my direction and placed a sweet kiss on my cheek before running off toward the room adjacent to mine in the family wing.
Just as I saw the last wisp of her platinum-blonde hair disappear around the corner, I heard the first of the guest doors open.
Letting out a sigh, I muttered to myself, “Time for those consequences.”
Let the fun begin.
In the South, there were usually two ways a bad situation could go.
It could be ignored, and life would return to something close to normal with the added bonus of new gossip to talk about over iced tea on the porch. Or it could be attacked head-on, causing a scandal so great, you had no choice but to bury your head in the sand until it all blew over.
Knowing my guest had heard me in the throes of passion on multiple occasions had me hoping for option number one and a freaking miracle.
Thankfully, someone up there had heard my pleas, or maybe I’d somehow lucked out since I wasn’t quite sure how the whole prayers-for-help-when-you’d-had-super-loud-earth-shattering-sex thing went.
I somehow doubted that particular request was high on the priority list for the big guy upstairs.
I didn’t blame him.
Either way, I was breathing a sigh of relief by the end of breakfast and soon after when all three of my guests checked out, thanking me for a wonderful stay. I got a wink from one of the husbands, which I tried desperately hard to ignore.
But, all in all, I called it a win.
Wanting nothing more than to leave the pile of dishes in the sink and crawl back in bed, I, of course, did the exact opposite, forcing myself back into work mode for another hour. I scrubbed the kitchen, made snacks for my new arrivals that afternoon, and began the process of cleaning the upstairs.
I left the yellow room for last.
As I was hauling the remaining linens down to the first floor for washing, my sweaty sister made her reappearance through the front door.
“Man, it is a glorious day outside!” she declared. “Not a cloud in the sky, and the temperature is perfect.”
“You say that now. But come back in a month or two, and you’ll be wiping so much boob sweat, you could fill a pitcher.”
“That’s an image that will stick with you.” She laughed. “Besides, you forget where I live now. Florida is the land of year-round boob sweat.”
Her face was flushed, and her body was slick with sweat. On most people, the overall look would be less than ideal. For Millie, it was like she’d just walked onto a photo shoot for sportswear.
If she could ever settle down, she’d make some man out there incredibly happy.
“Meet me in Mom and Dad’s old room?” she asked, punching several buttons on her fancy watch.
“Sure. Let me just start these.”
“Okay, I’m going to hop in the shower. My suitcase will be waiting for you.” She smiled, heading off toward the family wing.
