“I’d like that too,” Lewis said.
“Yeah?”
He nodded and took a bite out of a burger. Robyn really had ordered everything she could think of.
“What else can you make?” Lewis asked around a mouthful.
“Please swallow before you talk,” Thane admonished in a tone that suggested he’d said the same thing a million times before.
“Anything a six-year-old would want to eat, Regan can do it,” my sister answered for me.
“Actually, my cooking skills have progressed a little since high school. I took a few cooking classes when I was in Europe and Asia.”
“Cooking classes in Europe and Asia.” Robyn whistled. “How very cultured of you.”
Thankfully, Eilidh spoke up so I could avoid my sister’s passive-aggressive comment. “This. Is. SO. GOOD.” She banged her fork on the table in emphasis.
“Yeah? Can I have a bite?”
She nodded enthusiastically and pushed the bowl across the table toward me. I took a scoopful of ketchup-soaked nuggets and mash on my fork. Chewing it, I nodded, my eyes dramatic and round. When I swallowed, I agreed, “So. Good.”
Her answering grin was the cutest thing I’d ever seen, her little face lighting up. When she spoke again, it was with kid randomness. “I love your nail varnish. Will you paint my nails?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to your dad.”
Thane shook his head. “You’re too young for nail varnish.”
“But, Daddy!”
Sensing a tantrum on the horizon, I intervened, “Nail polish is for when you’re older. But I could braid your hair. Have you ever worn a fishtail braid?”
“What’s a braid?”
I raised an eyebrow. Did her mom not braid her hair?
“It’s a pleat,” Thane answered.
Her expression cleared, and I realized we’d hit on a cultural misunderstanding. Scots called braids pleats, just like they called polish varnish and ken was know. I filed that away. “I can pleat your hair later. A fishtail is such a cute look.”
“It doesn’t sound cute.” She wrinkled her nose, making me laugh.
“Don’t think of it as a fishtail … think of it more like a mermaid tail.”
“I love mermaids!” Eilidh gasped, her eyes round with excitement.
Oh my God, she was so cute I could die.
“Lucy,” she panted around her food, “Lucy tried to pleat my hair once, but she said it was too curly.”
Before I could say that I’d have no problem mastering her wild curls, a thick tension fell over the table.
Then I realized why.
Lucy.
Did she mean Lucy Wainwright?
Shit.
And why was a starlet offering to braid Eilidh’s hair and not her mother?
“Dad said we’re not allowed to talk about Lucy, Eilidh. You’re so stupid,” Lewis snapped, his cheeks reddening with frustration.
Eilidh’s face crumpled.
“Lewis, I didn’t say that, and don’t speak to your sister that way.” Thane glared angrily at his son.
Lewis looked like someone had slapped him. “But you said—”
“You misunderstood me.” Thane sighed wearily. “The point is, you never speak to each other like that. Okay?”
Seeing tears brighten in Eilidh’s face, I hurried to distract her. “I can pleat your hair for school tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
I nodded, smiling.
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Lewis reminded me sullenly, his eyes to his food.
His dad watched him with a pained, worried expression.
Jeez. What was going on here?
“Right. Well, I can pleat Eilidh’s hair anytime.”
“Tomorrow?” She bounced impatiently in her seat. “I want a mermaid’s tail!”
“Sure. It’s a plan,” I promised, and then nudged Lewis’s elbow. “So school, huh? What grade are you in?”
He looked up at me, his cheeks still red from his dad’s earlier admonishment. “Grade?”
“Primary class,” Robyn offered.
“I just started primary three.”
I didn’t know what that meant. “Just started?”
“School just started back this week,” Thane replied.
“Oh, right. So … primary three. That makes you … eight, nine?” I guessed by his height.
His eyes lit up. “Seven.”
“You’re tall for seven. Must get that from your dad and uncle, huh?”
Lewis looked pleased and nodded.
Grinning, I turned to Eilidh. “And what primary class are you in?”
“Five!” She splayed the fingers of her right hand.
Her brother giggled. “Not age, Eils. Class. She’s in primary one. It was her first-ever week at school.”
“Wow. Big week for you then?”
She nodded rapidly around a mouthful.
Seriously. So freaking cute.
“She got Ms. Hansen, and she’s the best teacher.” Lewis grimaced. “I got Mrs. Welsh.”
“You don’t like Mrs. Welsh?”
He wrinkled his nose. “She’s grumpy and doesn’t like the boys and she picks on you if you don’t know the answer to something. And she smells.”
Thane sighed heavily. Looking at him, I could tell he wanted to reprimand Lewis for insulting his teacher, but after the moment they just had, he was probably reluctant to pile it on.
“Does she really smell, or are you just saying that because you don’t like her?”
He thought about this. “Well, Connor said she smells.”
“Who’s Connor?”
“One of my friends.”
“So … because Connor said Mrs. Welsh smells, you all say it now?”
He nodded.
“Is it true?”
He shrugged. “Not really. But the other stuff is.”
“Okay. Well, it sucks that Mrs. Welsh is impatient and grumpy, but we shouldn’t really say mean stuff about people if it’s not true, right?”