gaze, and said with complete sincerity, “Thank you.”
“Yes, you’re welcome, I am a goddess of mercy. Were you staring at my tits?”
“No,” he said honestly. She really ought to ask more specific questions. “What are you doing here? I told you to go home.”
“Hm, yes, about that—”
“Could you just . . . get out, for a minute?” he cut in. “I’m tired and I really want to put some clothes on.” And you’re making me dizzy. You and your eyes and your body and everything I know about you now, it’s all making me dizzy. That disorientation sharpened his words and his expression. Eve, most likely offended by his shortness, pressed her lips together and left.
Which was the desired result. So why the fuck did he feel deflated as soon as she’d gone? It was the puppy effect, again. Jacob didn’t want to kick her, and so when he did, he felt the urge to apologize. With a sigh of resignation, he threw on some pajamas and rushed out of his room, hoping to catch her before she disappeared to wherever the hell it was she lived. But when he opened the bedroom door she was standing right there in his hallway, staring at the picture on the wall.
So he hadn’t kicked too hard; he hadn’t hurt her too badly or scared her off entirely. Perhaps she was starting to understand that most of the time, his sharpness had more to do with himself than anyone else. He released a pent-up breath and moved to stand beside her, staring at the picture just like she was.
What did she see?
Well; he knew what she saw. Aunt Lucy, and Jacob, and his cousin Liam, clustered together at the pointless “graduation” ceremony their sixth form held, like some American school in a glossy film. Except this was Skybriar, so there hadn’t been gowns or caps and the blocky comprehensive building sat in the background of the photograph like a crumbling spaceship. Jacob looked stiff and uncomfortable, because he had felt stiff and uncomfortable. Lucy looked proud, and also short, standing between two teenage boys like that. Liam was grinning at the camera like some kind of supermodel because he was a prat.
So that was what Eve saw. But what did she see? Must be something beyond a family photo, judging by the expression on her face. It was soft, her eyes like melting chocolate, her mouth a gentle curve. Her hair was still up, and for once, she wasn’t wearing her AirPods. She had small ears that stuck out slightly. He had the strangest urge to flick them, which made no sense at all.
Then she said, “You grew up with Lucy, didn’t you?”
Jacob ran his tongue over the inside of his teeth. “I met Lucy when I was ten.”
Eve nodded before pointing at Liam. “Is that your brother?”
“Cousin. Liam. He’s away right now. For work.”
“Oh.” She paused. “So Lucy really is your aunt. I mean—a relative kind of aunt, not a mum’s friend kind of aunt. Because you and your cousin look so alike.”
Jacob stared. “We don’t look alike.” Liam was handsome and charming and probably could’ve played the badboy love interest on a daytime soap opera if he hadn’t been born to play with engines instead. Jacob saw the family resemblance, but he knew he was sharper and harsher and altogether more awkward in a way that drained the handsomeness right out of him.
But Eve frowned as if he wasn’t making sense and said, “What? You’re practically identical. You see that, right?”
Jacob tried to compute the many implications of that statement and developed a small headache that encouraged him to stop. “You thought Lucy wasn’t my aunt?”
“She’s protective over you like a mother. You have different surnames but you love her enough to name Castell Cottage after her. And you never talk about your parents. I thought maybe she’d adopted you or fostered you or something, and you didn’t want to call her Mum.”
“She did adopt me. I’m her son.” He cleared his throat. “Legally, I mean.”
“Not just legally, from where I’m standing.”
Jacob supposed that was a comment on love or emotional connection or what have you. He shifted uncomfortably and searched for a new topic.
But Eve apparently wasn’t done. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
He blinked. So am I. “Sorry for what?”
“That they . . . um . . .” For once, she looked awkward, lacing her fingers together and shrugging her shoulders. “Sorry . . . for your . . .