in her clutches. His grandmother, Grandma Mable, made it for her using scraps of old fabric leftover from other projects from her sewing club.
“Ainsley,” I whisper, walking in and gently nudging her shoulder. “It’s time to get up and get breakfast.” Breakfast that will probably be buttered toast and a banana at this point. I make a mental note to go to the store after I’m done with conferences this afternoon.
She wiggles but doesn’t open her eyes. I’ve been here before with her and it never ends well. Last time, she all but scratched my face in a tantrum when I told her to get up.
“Ains,” I repeat.
Burying her head in the pillow, I scrub a palm down my face. I’ve been up for over half an hour and still haven’t gotten changed because I wanted to get her breakfast set. Now I’m regretting that because it means dressing quickly and skipping my own breakfast, which won’t make for a good day.
I do what my parents always did when I acted like this. I yank the blankets off her and scoop her up. She wiggles and bats my chest until I set her on her feet. “Sorry, kid. I’ve got to go to the school today which means Aunt Jenna is watching you.”
Normally she perks up over Jenna’s name, but I can tell her early morning battle is getting the best of her. She tries crawling back in bed, but I stop her. Fighting me all the way to the stairs, I all but growl in frustration.
“Ainsley!” I scold, trying not to be too loud since Easton isn’t up yet. He left my room after three this morning, later than he normally fleas. I think he might have fallen asleep for a while before remembering he wasn’t in his room.
Ainsley drags her feet across the carpet, forcing me let go and sigh. She runs back to her room and closes the door. Eyes squeezing shut, I rub the lids and count to five before walking over and opening it.
“You have five minutes to get downstairs before I get angry,” I inform her in a tone I’ve only had to use once before. I hate sounding like a hard ass with her. We’ve always been on friendly terms, but it’s been different since she started living with me fulltime. “And that means no dessert … for the next three days.”
Truthfully, I’ll probably cave. It’s like all the times I’d threaten not to give my childhood cat treats when he did something bad, then give him some anyway. All it took was one little look, a shin rub, and a loud purr to get me to fold.
Ainsley is no different.
As I walk down the stairs, I hear one door slam closed and another one open. Instead of looking up past the white railway that reveals the doors in question, I shake my head and walk back to the kitchen to prepare her toast.
It’s a few minutes later when I’m buttering the browned bread and grumbling to myself when I hear footsteps that are too heavy to belong to a five-year-old. A warm body comes up behind me and takes the butter knife away from me before his hip nudge me over.
“What’s wrong?”
My nostrils flare. “You drank all the milk again and didn’t bother telling me or getting more. And what happened to the eggs?”
He pauses what he’s doing to glance at me, lips pursed. “I’ll go to the store and grab some when they open. It’s not a big deal.”
Not a big— Of course he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t have to feed another person. All he has to worry about is himself, and half the time he just grabs something after he leaves if he doesn’t make one of his disgusting green protein shakes after his run.
“Ainsley needs breakfast,” I state, walking to the refrigerator and shaking the carton of milk. “Do you just drink from this?”
He doesn’t answer.
“We all use it, Easton.”
He sets down the knife and turns to me, eyes hard. “What is the matter? Are you really pissed off over the milk? I said I’ll go get some, okay? I’m sorry.”
It’s not about the milk, but my pride won’t tell him that. Instead, I simmer in my foul mood and figure it has to do with my period that started first thing this morning. Pair that with a child who won’t listen and will only get grumpier if she doesn’t eat, it just worsens the irritation boiling in