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Seren casually leaned against the kitchen bar, going out of her way to chop the peeled potatoes into not-quite-even cubes. It was driving Dillon crazy. The nonconformity. The haphazard use of the chef’s blade.

Reaching across the counter, she swiped the knife from her sister’s hand. “You peel, I’ll cut.”

“They taste the same either way.”

“Do not.” Dillon halved the tuber, and then sliced it in thirds, before tossing the equal parts into a waiting pot of cold water.

Disinterested in peeling, Seren moved on to combining ingredients for fresh bread, taking care to leave a trail of flour across the spotless granite. Given her otherwise extraordinary proclivity for fastidiousness, Dillon knew the act was deliberate, done to inflate her sister’s joy of needling her.

“You’re such a muppet.” Dillon dropped another potato in the pot.

“Take’s one to know one.” Smiling through her meticulous application of modest lip gloss, Seren leaned down and blew the fine white powder in Dillon’s direction, quickly retreating to the sink to avoid retaliation.

Dillon didn’t pursue her.

“What’s wrong, Dill Pickle?”

At that, Dillon’s head jerked up, casting her sister a witheringglare.Dillywas one thing.Dill Picklewas a no-go.

Seren didn’t flinch. “What’s on your mind?”

In Wales less than twenty-four hours, and already Seren was analyzing her.

Welcome home.

Still, Dillon couldn’t help but rise to the bait. “Why doesn’t she like her?”

“Hmm?” Seren turned to scrubbing vegetables.

“Come on,” Dillon dropped the last potato into the water and paused a moment, listening for any signs of movement in the house. Their mam had run to the market and Kam, still exhausted, had gone to take a nap upstairs. Satisfied they were alone, she continued. “Why doesn’t Mam like her?”

“What are you talking about? She was perfectly polite.”

“Right. That’s the problem.”

“Dillon—”

“Spare me the bullshit—I know you know what I mean.”

Tossing a carrot into the colander, Seren turned to face her. “Fine. It has nothing to do withlikingher. I think she’s just… worried, is all.”

“About?”

“She watched the red carpet thing.” Seren busied herself drying her hands on a dish towel. “I don’t think she realized…”

“What? That she’s a big deal?” Annoyed, Dillon dragged a sponge through the spilled flour.

“She doesn’t want to see you get hurt—”

“—so it would have been better if she was just some bit player, is that it? Something a little more my level?”

“Don’t be obtuse!” Seren snapped, flinging the towel back onto the oven handle. “No one’s above you, Dillon—Mam’s just concerned she’s turned your head.”

“Of course she’s bloody turned my head—I love her! Is there a problem with that?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.” Resigned, Seren’s shoulders sagged with her deep exhale, her ramrod posture deflating. “She’s just worried you’re not quite yourself. That you seem a little distracted.”

“And she’s reached that conclusion in the whole twelve hours I’ve been here, has she?”