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Someday, he’d know the truth. But not today.
“The battle with the mouse king started.”
Leighton nodded. “Yeah. Be right up.”
Alice didn’t push. Just nodded and tugged Grey with her.
I turned to follow, wrapping my arm around Leighton’s shoulders, tucking her against my ribs.
“Get me in a ring with her and I’ll make it look like an accident, I swear.”
“I know, Trouble,” I said, pressing a kiss to her temple as we hit the marble stairs. Her heels clicked softly beside me. “But tonight, what matters is Mattie. That she knows how loved she is.”
“I know,” she murmured.
We didn’t speak again as we climbed the stairs and slipped into the Hart family box. She stayed quiet through the applause, her gaze far away—until the orchestra shifted into snowfall. Then her eyes snapped to the stage, landing on Mattie, radiant in the spotlight.
I should’ve been watching the performance.
But I looked at the woman beside me instead, tears shimmering in her eyes.
And I knew I felt more loyalty—more kinship, moreeverything—for Leighton Rhodes than I ever had for the woman she’d just eviscerated.
As my hand settled on the back of her neck, and hers drifted to my knee, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, this aching, bruising heat in my chest… was what love felt like.
12
Does This Make Me An Objectophile?
LEIGHTON
Mom
There’s no such thing as too much garlic.
Leighton
Tell that to my very Italian boss.
Mom
Just never snap spaghetti noodles. Ask me how I know that.
If I was going to imbue any aspect of myself onto these children, Lord, let it be my taste in music—and not my uncertainty in the kitchen.
Growing up, the family favorites were all oldies, and if I could pass down the greatness that was Pink Floyd to the next generation, I’d die a very happy woman. That holy mission had Tillie singingAnother Brick in the Wallunder her breath as she worked on her homework at the dining room table Monday night.
Gotta start with the classics and work our way up, obviously. Beau had played until he dropped—literally—and was now passed the hell out on the couch.
What I didn’t expect, as the music swapped to instrumentals, was the way my whole body went on alert. I turned from the pot on the stove to find Ollie leaning against the kitchen archway.
Jumping, my hand flew to my heart, elbow knocking the wooden spoon perched on the pot, sending it—and a ladleful of red sauce—flying. I shrieked as Ollie muttered an apologetic, “Oh shit!”
“Jesus Christ,announce yourself!”
“I thought you heard me.”
“Make a noise or something! You’re like Michael Myers justloomingin the fucking doorway.”