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Grief clotted the air.
Bound it.
Held it.
Kane was the one who broke it, angling his head as he murmured, “We’d better get inside.”
My nod was wary, and I trudged along behind him and Maci as they headed for the house. Maci’s steps were light and eager as she raced up the stairs. The child nothing but a buzz of excitement. “I like your house a whole lot, Mr. Kane. You got any kids for me to play with?”
If I wasn’t watching so closely, I wouldn’t have noticed the way he nearly tripped. The stumble in his stride before he regained his footing.
But of course, I was.
So messed up that I couldn’t look away.
“No. You’re the first kid who’s going to be staying here with me,” he said, words thick, “but I do have a nephew who I think is going to be super excited to meet you.”
“Yay! Another best friend!” Her little sandals thudded against the porch as she raced across it, and she yanked at the door handle.
While I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel behind me.
I paused to turn to look back at my mother through the windshield. My mother lifted her hand and pressed her fingertips to her lips before she barely waved them at me.
A fluttering of hope and a staunch show of support.
I lifted mine in a silent goodbye, then I stepped into Kane Asher’s house.
TWENTY-ONE
EMERY
Wasit wrong that I was shocked that a man like Kane had a house that looked like this?
It was gorgeous.
An old rambling home that had been meticulously renovated.
The hardwood floors were likely original, though they’d been sanded and stained to a glossy black.
To the left was a formal living room, and off to the right was a wide hall as large as a room, and openings jutted off on the left side of it before it let into the kitchen at the end.
The opposite wall was a line of windows that overlooked the front yard.
Ahead was a staircase with a carved, ornate railing.
“Do I got a room, Mr. Kane?” Maci peeped, holding onto the skirt of her dress and swishing it around as she turned to look at him.
“You sure do,” he said. “Right this way.”
Kane angled around her and headed for the staircase.
Then he paused to look back at me, a startled worry suddenly coloring his face. “Is she good with the stairs?”
“Don’t even worry,” Maci cut in before I had the chance to answer. “I had stairs at my mommy’s house, and I never even fell down once because I got good balance because I’m a ballerina.”
Maci was already clomping her way up, passing him as she glided her hand along the railing as she went.
Reservations rolled from the man, but he seemed to accept it, and he turned and followed closely behind her, carrying my suitcase and her bag.