Page 82 of Insta-Family (Forbidden Descendants 3)

“You didn’t have to make me food,” I said, or make me want to belong here.

“Actually,” Lucy started, lifting her eyebrows as she patted the tabletop in front of my place setting. “I kind of do. According to the lease agreement I have worked out here, I’m to provide at least a continental breakfast, if not a full one, for you every morning. Here. Feel free to read this over while you eat.”

I reluctantly sat down and slid the paper across the table toward me to read it.

I’d been feeling so upbeat and positive this morning too. After all of the support Lucy’s family had given me last night, I’d been raw and vulnerable, but in a good way. Like I’d stripped myself down to the bone and was ready to remake myself. A fresh beginning could now commence, and I was looking forward to that.

But how dare I do that with Duke gone? And with what should’ve been Duke’s family?

When I tried to read the agreement, the words initially blurred in front of me. But then I clamped my hand around my thigh under the table and dug my fingernails into my jeans, and eventually, I was able to focus and concentrate.

It didn’t take me long to realize why Beau had been so concerned about his sister renting out to just anyone. Her tenant could have free reign of the back bathroom, washer and dryer, plus anything in the kitchen. She also agreed to provide at least a continental breakfast each morning and allowed the tenant to eat any food that wasn’t marked. Water, electricity, heating and air, trash service, and Wi-Fi would be provided by her. The list went on, and I just kept wincing over how much she was going to provide.

I mean, I could see why she was offering so much extra—because the garage wasn’t exactly glamorous—but damn, the wrong person could totally take advantage of her.

I bit my tongue to keep from voicing any of these concerns, and I signed the lease agreement without comment before writing her a check for the agreed-upon price.

“Here’s your first month of rent,” I said, setting the check on top of the signed contract and sliding both her way. “Plus the security deposit.”

“Thank you.” Lucy accepted the pile and picked up the check to examine it for a long moment.

“All there?” I finally asked, entertained by how she had to double-check it.

“Hmm?” She looked up, slightly distracted.

I grinned. “Did you think I was going to underpay or something?”

“Just the opposite, actually,” she confessed, rolling her eyes. “I was sure you were going to overpay with some kind of lame excuse.”

“Aah.” I chuckled and nodded in understanding before I added, “I think I’ll wait for the mint on my pillow each night before I start the heavy tipping.”

Lucy sniffed at my joke and then broke into a rueful smile. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Now eat.” She nudged the pan of eggs at me, as well as a plate full of toast, but then she paused. “You do like eggs, right? I mean, you ate them for my mom, but maybe you were just being nice.”

“No, I actually like them,” I said and took a heaping plateful before grabbing a piece of toast.

“I was going to add some bacon to the mix, but it was a little outdated, so I threw it out instead.

“Welp.” I picked up my knife and began to butter the toast. “Definitely no tip for you, then.”

She smiled.

Crossing her legs so her bare foot could bob and resting her elbows on the table, she propped her chin on her hands and watched me start my breakfast. Her plate was empty, and it looked as if she’d already eaten.

Growing uncomfortably warm with the full focus of her attention on me, I cleared my throat, just as my mind started to wander. I wondered how nice it’d be to catch her bobbing foot and set it on my thigh so I could massage her calf while I ate, teasing her by slowly moving my strokes higher. She might even tease me back, shifting her toes along my thigh until—

Fuck, I really need to stop with that line of thinking. I cleared my throat again.

“Do you need a drink?” she started, reaching for a pitcher of orange juice at the exact same moment that I reached for it as well.

Our hands collided.

“Sorry,” we said together, pulling back at the same time. She clutched her palm to her chest as if it’d been bitten, and I found myself flexing my fingers because of the sizzling jolt of awareness that had arced through me at contact.

“Go ahead,” I finally offered, motioning her to take the pitcher.

But she flushed and shook her head. “No, sorry. I was only going to get you a drink, but you probably know how much you want more than I do.”

I couldn’t argue that point, so I reached out again. The air grew tense and heavy between us. I was ultra-aware of every move I made. It was excruciatingly extreme.

---