bun—red, gold, brown, rust, bronze, glowing in yellow summer sun—that Gus found even more distracting than her shirt.
“My sister is in a situation in Scotland,” she said, dropping her chin back down. “She found out the guy she’s apprenticing with and maybe dating is the secret lovechild of a recently deceased duke, and heir to a Scottish dukedom.”
Gus pulled his gaze from her hair to her face, frowning in confusion. There was no smile, no mischief in her eyes. She was serious. “Really? That’s a thing that happens to people?”
“Apparently. She and her friends get into some weird situations, to be honest. Anyway, she was going to announce the duke stuff on my site because she’s been writing a column for me. But we got scooped by some shitty tabloid, and I had to scramble this morning when a reader sent me the link.” She looked distinctly not pleased with that. “Now my sister’s getting dragged into articles about this guy because this is some big scandal, and I have a bad feeling. Portia isn’t like me.”
Portia, her fraternal twin. Like Aurora and Briar Rose. He thought about the painting above the fireplace, and a piece of the puzzle that was Reggie moved into place.
“What do you mean she’s not like you?”
“She’s not tough. I’m like a pineapple, or one of those spiky green fruits.”
“Durian?” She nodded. Gus couldn’t let that stand. “Have you smelled durian? You’re no durian.”
“Okay. I’m a pineapple. She’s a . . . pear. She bruises easily, so to speak.”
“Isn’t she the one who hurt you, though?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he liked this sister of hers, who’d made Reggie feel uncared for in the past—he’d seen bruised pineapples before.
“Yeah, but not on purpose.” She sighed again.
“Does it matter if it was on purpose?”
She shot him a frustrated look. “It’s complicated. But if you Google ‘Duke of Edinburgh love child’ you can see what everyone is saying.”
Gus pulled out his phone and did as she said while she began moving things around in the cabinet again. Several articles that had published in the last few hours popped up, and the top image was a grumpy-looking dude with salt-and-pepper hair and a sword standing next to some kind of alternate universe version of Reggie, in fancy clothes and with way more makeup.
“You’re prettier,” he said.
“Don’t shit talk my sister.” She leaned up from the cabinet, pointing a cast-iron skillet at him in a menacing fashion. Her arm shook, but her grip didn’t budge. “We’ve had our parents comparing us all of our lives. I know you’re trying to be nice but . . . chill with that.”
She placed the skillet in her lap and rolled toward the stove, clearly annoyed.
“Sorry,” he said. “She’s pretty, too, of course, because she looks like you. Kind of. It’s just that I like you better. I should have kept that to myself, though.”
“Gus.” Her voice was softer and her shoulders were shaking with laughter. “Thanks. Come make me breakfast.”
“What is a swordbae?” he asked after glancing at the screen one last time, and was glad he did when Reggie laughed again. It was a bright sound, and a little brash, just like her.
She set the table and began pressing oranges with an electric juicer while he whisked the eggs and cinnamon and sugar, soaked the thickly cut bread, and dropped it into the pan.
“You like coffee, right? You said that before on the live stream.”
“Yup. Dark roast if you’ve got it,” he said.
It wasn’t until he was plating up their food and carrying it to the dining room table that he realized how domestic this was. It reminded him of Ông nội and Bà nội, making meals for the family when he was a boy, how they’d each had their roles and worked so well together.
It was a kind of presumptuous comparison given he’d met Reggie in person for the first time the night before. Dave would probably tell him to slow his roll . . . or maybe not. Dave had said This is like, the woman I’m gonna marry! after his first date with Melissa, hadn’t he? And now they were, indeed, married. Maybe this wasn’t typical, but it was within the realm of possibility. He wasn’t sure he wanted to marry Reggie given the whole ‘just met in person yesterday’ thing, but he wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted to make her blush, and not just by making good food for her.
He set the