Page 5 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
“I didn’t notice, dear!” His tone was rather meek and mild, and I dipped my head to hide my smile.
Oh, he noticed.
He just didn’t want to tell her.
My phone vibrated in my hoodie pocket. I set down my things and pulled it out to look at the new text that always gave the little zz-zz-zzzzzz buzz.
HAZEL: Christina just told she me thinks she saw your fancy pants car. Does that mean you’re home???
Jesus Christ.
My sister’s best friend needed a hobby.
And my car was not that fancy pants.
ME: I just walked through the door. Still had my suitcase in hand when you texted. Does Chrissy have a hobby?
HAZEL: No. Does this mean we can do breakfast tomorrow????
ME: Can I eat dinner first? Nana made roast beef.
HAZEL: She never makes me roast beef. Talk about the golden child.
“Nana! When was the last time you made Hazel your roast beef?” I called.
“Two weeks ago!” she said, strolling into the hall and right through to the kitchen, sans lipstick on her teeth. “If she’s telling you I never make it, don’t listen to her.”
“That’s what I thought. She’s being a brat again.”
“Don’t call your sister a brat,” Gramps said, sniffing in the doorway.
“Sorry,” I replied, hitting the message box. “I’m the big sister. It’s practically a requisite that I call her a brat.”
They both laughed. They knew it came from a place of love—excluding that time I was fifteen and she was thirteen and she stole all my make-up.
That was not from a place of love.
That was from a place of me being very pissed off because I’d been sweeping hair in the local hair salon for weeks to afford the more expensive makeup she’d stolen.
ME: Nana said she made it two weeks ago. Brat.
HAZEL: Shit.
HAZEL: Don’t call me a brat.
ME: Don’t act like one, then.
ME: And remember that nice discount your darling big sis is giving you for her wedding planning services.
HAZEL: I love you. Sooooooo much. The best big sister everrrrr.
Suck up.
ME: Brat.
HAZEL: Hey!
I laughed.
