Twist of Fate (Taking Chances #2) - Tia Louise Page 0,16

cat-voice.

“Who’s the biggest cat in Fireside?” I lean forward, rubbing my nose against him. “Who’s the biggest cat?”

Aunt Regina’s new house is close enough to walk—like everything in Fireside. The town only has one traffic signal, one main street, and one historic neighborhood, in which the bed and breakfast occupies a prime location.

Her new house is more Tudor style with white stucco lined in dark wooden slats. It reminds me of a ski lodge, and I hear voices yelling in the back yard as I approach. I wonder if Sly found another little boy to play with Oliver.

“Sly? Aunt Regina?” I don’t knock as I enter through the front door.

The house is grand, even more like a ski lodge on the inside with vaulted ceilings and dark wood lining the white walls. An enormous, two-sided fireplace sits between the living room and the kitchen, and the place seems to be deserted.

Sandwich fixings sit on the bar in the kitchen as I skip through to the back door, pulling it open without even looking.

I should’ve looked because all the noise is a pretend football game with Scout running across the yard holding Oliver in his arms.

“And he runs it in for the touchdown!” Scout yells in an announcer-style voice. “The crowd goes wild!” He air-cheers, and Oliver squeals.

“You did it, Ollie!” Sly yells, jumping up and down and clapping from what seems to be the sidelines.

“Do it again!” Oliver bounces on Scout’s hip.

“Again?” Scout rolls him forward like a rocket, running back across the yard and swirling the little boy around as Ollie clutches a toy-sized football giggling the whole way.

It would be cuteness overload if I weren’t standing at the top of the steps looking like a sad little orphan girl in paint-covered sweats and a tee so old it has holes in the armpits. Maybe if I slowly back-step through the door, nobody will even notice I’m—

“Daisy! You made it!” Aunt Regina calls to me from the wrought-iron lawn chair where she’s sitting.

“Daisy!” Sly waves when she sees me.

“Hey…” I swallow the knot in my throat, doing my best not to look at Scout.

So what if he’s here playing with Oliver instead of checking in with me like he said he would. I don’t care. I was dreading it, actually. It would’ve been super awkward after last night.

“Look who I grabbed off the street.” Sly loops her hand through Scout’s arm, dragging the two of them to where I’m standing, wishing I could slink inside or at least fall into one of the bushes to hide.

“Hey, Daisy.” Scout’s voice is low, quiet.

Our eyes meet, and a flash of embarrassment hits me right in the stomach. I blink away fast. “Hey… Well, everybody’s here.” Turning, I start to go inside. “Anybody else want a sandwich?”

“Here, let me help you!” Sly jogs up the stairs, and I hear Oliver talking to Scout.

“Have you ever made a touchdown?” His little voice is fast and breathless, and I can’t help sneaking a glance at them.

“A few times.” Scout’s holding him in his arms, and the little boy is looking at the football like it’s a rare treasure.

“Can we do it again?”

“How about you run down the field and I’ll throw the ball to you? That’s called going long.”

“He is so good with kids, I swear.” Sly opens the door, leading me into the arched, white kitchen as she laughs, “Probably because he’s just a big kid himself.”

I follow her, stealing one last glance at Scout in his usual jeans and a tee, muscles rippling in his arms as he gently tosses the ball underhanded to the little boy running with all his strength across the yard.

“Look up!” Scout calls, but Oliver doesn’t even try to catch it. He seems to have forgotten he was supposed to do something more than run away.

“He’s not a child.” My voice is quiet, remembering the words Scout said to me at the Tuna Tiki. Tinkerbell… Peter Pan.

A few seconds pass, and I realize my cousin has stopped talking.

Sly’s watching me with a knowing grin, and a flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks. I hate how easily I blush.

“I guess some things haven’t changed.” She rounds the bar and pulls out five plates.

Brightening my tone, I go to the bar and start pulling out slices of bread. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How much do we need? Is everybody having a sandwich?”

She takes out a serving spoon. “Twelve should be enough. We’ll make two for Scout,