Page 13 of Steinbeck (The Minnesota Kingstons #5)

“Not right now,” Jack said. “Currently, I’m on the hunt for Grandpa’s spokeshave.” He looked at his father. “Are you sure he had one?”

“He made all the curved legs on the living-room chairs. I remember him carving them out.”

“What are you working on?” Stein asked.

“Piano-bench legs,” Jack said.

And just like that the inquisition was over. She’d passed, and without completely lying, and maybe even earning an unfamiliar sense of respect.

They finished dinner, and she helped carry plates into the kitchen. The Norbert, a smaller version of the main house that had hosted Boo’s wedding reception, still possessed the vintage charm of the rest of the Kingston homes, all Victorians built during a time of grandeur and wealth.

This home, however, wasn’t outfitted with the circular conversation sofas or cigar and wingback chairs of the main house.

Instead, a leather Chesterfield sofa sat in front of the grand marble fireplace over a gleaming parquet floor, the scent of lemon hinting at a recent oiling of the oak banister that wound up to the second floor.

She set the dishes on the quartz countertop in the remodeled kitchen. Boo stood at the sink, rinsing and loading them into the dishwasher.

Penny came in with another load of plates. “Did you see that moon outside? It’s gorgeous.” She glanced at Emberly and winked.

Emberly just stood there.

Penny smiled warmly. “Do I need to be clearer?”

Maybe. “I can help clean up.”

Boo shut off the water. Turned. “Steinbeck has never brought a girl home before. You definitely mean something to him. Don’t waste the moonlight.”

Oh.

Harper had also come inside, holding the leftover salad and bun basket. “It’s a gorgeous night.”

“Fine. Okay.” And she laughed. Mostly because they were smiling, but maybe a part of her wished...

Nope. This was just a show. Nothing real here?—

Steinbeck had left the porch, helping his brothers carry firewood out to what looked like a firepit area on the beach. She toed off her shoes and stepped out onto the freshly clipped grass, letting the coolness soak into her.

An old memory rose—laughter, she and Nimue running through a park, playing a game. Hide-and-seek with their mother.

She shook it away and walked out to the beach. The waves whispered against the shoreline, the lake tranquil, the moonlight dragging a lazy finger across the ripples in the water.

Conrad and Jack built a teepee of wood while their dad unloaded the firewood from Steinbeck’s arms onto a wood cradle.

Oaken sat on a rough-hewn wooden bench with his guitar, tuning it, the sounds soft in the air.

Distant in her head stirred the word Run , but she dismissed it. Nothing to fear here. She’d made it through the worst of it.

Now she just had to survive the romance of a moonlit night.

The fire lit with Jack blowing on newspaper, and Conrad fed in kindling. The crackle grew, and the flame caught the logs, started to snap, shooting tiny embers into the night.

Steinbeck smacked woodchips from his hands, and Conrad nodded toward Emberly. Grinned.

Stein turned, and in the glow of the fire, he stood looking strong and safe. The man who’d opened her cage in the darkness and caught her as she shook off her fear. His burnished hair flickered gold, an unreadable emotion in his fathomless blue eyes. Desire?

No. It couldn’t be. Except a forbidden spark flamed when he stepped over to her.

He smelled of the soap from his earlier shower (she’d taken her own shower in her gorgeous guest room at the Norbert) and maybe a little of the cotton of his shirt, and not a little redolence of Steinbeck—determination, might, and an unyielding sense of sanctuary.

Oh brother. Now she was in a Hallmark movie.

He held out his hand. “Want a tour of the grounds?”

He played his part well.

She took his hand, and he tugged her away toward the darkness, along the grass and lakeshore.

“The estate was built by my great-great-grandfather Bing Kingston. He was a newspaper baron and built a home for each of his sons back in the Gilded Era. I grew up in the carriage house, which my dad remodeled. Grandma and Grandpa lived in the Rudolph—one of our rentals.” He pointed to a darkened Victorian across the lawn.

“I think probably they’ll rent out the Norbert when Jack leaves. ”

“He’s leaving?”

“Probably. He’s working on his travel bus, although he has a home in Florida. I think he’s probably going to propose to Harper first.”

“This is an amazing place.”

“Someday my parents are hoping to leave it to one of us, although I’m not sure who. Doyle, maybe. He worked as caretaker for the last few years.”

“What about you?”

He still had hold of her hand, as if keeping up the ruse, but she didn’t hate it. Nor the way his fingers wove through hers.

“I’m not... I’m not an innkeeper. My mom loves people. My dad is a fixture in this town. I...” He drew in a breath.

She stilled, turned to him. “You still feel stuck in the middle.”

He frowned at her.

“You’re not the oldest. You’re not the hockey star. You’re not Doyle. You’re...”

“Just fine, Emberly. Not a project.”

“Thor.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just the guy trying to look after his brothers, trying to fix everything.”

“I’m not trying to fix everything.”

“Me. You’re trying to fix me.”

“No.” He stepped up to her then. “I’m not trying to fix you.”

She didn’t move away from him, and he stood so close she could put her hands on his chest. Maybe lift herself up and... “I’m not kissing you.” But her gaze went to his mouth.

“It looks like you want to.” And his stupid mouth smirked.

The wind stirred around them, a reminder of summer in the night air.

“This is just a... game,” she said softly.

“You’re the one who started it,” he said, his own gaze roaming her face. “Calling yourself my girlfriend.”

“It’s just a cover.”

He made a sound, deep in his chest. “They might be watching.” Then he dipped his head and kissed her. Soft lips, but strong against hers, his hands cupping her face, his fingers in her hair, kissing her with the taste of desire and longing, and so what if it was a game?

She kissed him back, losing herself to the fairy tale. To this pocket of make-believe and what-ifs and even... a different life.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, stepped closer, hanging on to this man who seemed so inextricably entwined in her life.

“I’m just not built for anything real, Stein.”

But this wasn’t real. And for now, it felt exactly right.

And in his arms, as he wound them around her and deepened his kiss, the sense of her other life, of Phoenix, faded, leaving behind...

Emberly.

Eager, hopeful.

Oh no ?—

Her breath caught and he lifted his head.

“You okay?”

Her stupid eyes burned, her throat tightening. “Yeah.”

He studied her for a moment, frowned, then let her go. From down the lakeshore, the fire had bloomed into a bonfire, the cinders alight in the darkness. The family had gathered, and Oaken’s deep tones carried down the beach.

“My family likes you.”

“I don’t like lying to them.”

He took her hand again and led her back toward the fire. “Maybe you’re not.”

What? She glanced at him.

“At the very least, I think our cover is intact.” He looked down at her and winked.

“Really? That’s why you kissed me?”

“Mission first,” he said, his voice holding a laugh, but he tightened his hold on her hand as they entered the ring of firelight.

Boo sat beside Oaken, clearly caught up in her husband’s music.

Jack sat next to Harper, eating a chocolate chip cookie. She stared into the flames as if thinking, lost somewhere else.

Penny lounged with her back against Conrad, who straddled a bench, looking up at the stars.

Grover stood, hands on his hips, contemplating the fire. Mama Em perched on a nearby bench, holding a roasting stick, the firelight on her face as she smiled at her oldest son. “Those are supposed to be for the s’mores.”

“It’s your fault for being such a good cook, Mom,” Jack said.

Mama Em rolled her eyes.

“You two have a nice walk?” Penny asked.

“It’s quite the place you have here,” Emberly said. “Why aren’t you full right now?”

“We will be this weekend. It’s the last weekend before school starts. And we have a wedding scheduled next week,” Mama Em said. “So it’s a nice breather. Grover and I are going to the fair tomorrow to listen to Oaken.” She looked at Stein. “You two should join us. The fair is a great date.”

“They’re not dating.”

The voice stilled Emberly, silenced the group, and she looked over to see?—

Austen. Her auburn hair down, wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, looking tan and strong and not at all frayed and on the run—the last clear memory Emberly possessed of Steinbeck’s twin sister.

And Austen probably possessed the same memory, because her gaze landed hard on Emberly as she walked into the family circle.

“Austen! I didn’t know you were back in town.” Her mother got up.

“What do you mean they’re not dating?” Conrad said. Penny sat up, frowning.

Austen met her mother’s hug, her gaze on Stein, something accusatory in it.

Stein tightened his grip on Emberly’s hand, as if he heard the little voice inside her saying Run . “Austen?—”

“This is Phoenix. She’s a thief and a spy, and the last time I saw her, she was running from Cuban authorities after setting a truck on fire.”

Oh. Right. She’d forgotten the fire-and-bullets part of their history.

Austen turned, her hands on her hips, her face steel. “She’s dangerous and trouble, and what in the world are you doing with her, Stein?”