All she experienced was a quick flash of alarm before she remembered it was in fact Scott. Her favorite sibling, who’d die before hurting her. He’d also kill before allowing her to be hurt, hence the elaborate lie she’d cooked up regarding her attack.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, the words muffled by his broad chest. A good thing because the sudden rush of emotion at having family close had her throat closing and her eyes filling.
“Me too, sissy. Me too. You gonna invite me in or are we gonna stand here hugging all day like a bunch of chumps?”
It was the exact perfect thing to say. Knocked her out of her emotional moment. “Yes, of course.” She drew back, and thankfully he ignored her sniff and nose-swipe. “Just drop your bag by the door and we’ll take you to your room later.”
He let the long green military-issued sea bag drop to the wood floor as he took a look around. “Nice place, sis. You’ve done well. Proud of you.”
Her heart swelled under the praise just before it deflated again. Proud of her. Ha. He wouldn’t be so proud if he knew she was getting over being attacked by fucking hordes of random men.
Jesus, just the thought of him, or anyone she knew finding out had her gut churning.
“Hey.” He cuffed her shoulder. “It was a compliment, weirdo. You’re supposed to say thank you.”
God, she loved their sibling banter. With a mock punch to his gut, she said, “Come on, you giant. I made a fresh pot of coffee.”
Scott followed her past the den with its oversized plush couch and leather recliner. The chair was a little more masculine than the rest of her furniture, but she’d always loved the feel of soft leather against her skin. They entered her kitchen, which was hands down her favorite room in the place.
“Wow, Clo, this is sweet.”
“Thanks. I love it too. It was owned by an elderly gentleman who remodeled the kitchen after his wife died. He’d planned to sell after updating the place but passed from a heart attack before he ever had the chance to enjoy it. His kids just wanted out from under the responsibility of it all, so they sold it for a song.”
“Shit, unlucky for the old guy but lucky for you.”
Chloe laughed. “You’re as sensitive as ever, I see.”
He just grunted. Typical Scott.
“Seriously though, sis, stainless appliances, granite counter tops, is that a Viking range? Shit, you must love cooking in here.”
Chloe motioned to a chair at her round oak table. A thrift store miracle find. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you some coffee. And I do love to cook, but since it’s just me, I don’t actually do it much. So it’ll be great to have you around to spoil with some home cooking for a few weeks.” She grabbed two large mugs from the cabinet directly above her coffee pot.
“Oh man.” Scott stretched back in his chair, rubbing his flat stomach as though he’d already devoured a huge meal. “I can already feel the pounds I’m going to pack on being here. Bring it, girl.”
Chloe smiled. She’d hadn’t been as excited for Scott’s visit as she should have been, more concerned with her own anxieties and issues, but now that he was here and the enjoyment of being with him sank in, she was beyond thrilled. Having someone around, Scott especially, would be good for her. She’d been alone far too much lately. Having another person to cook for was just what the doctor ordered. She loved to cook and really hadn’t done her near-professional grade kitchen justice. Well, she’d be sure to give it a workout over the next two weeks.
“Black?”
“Yep.”
She drank it the same way. One of the many things she had in common with her oldest sibling. After placing his steaming mug on the table, she took the empty chair directly across from him. With a deep inhale, she savored the comforting and invigorating smell of the premium java. As she lifted the cup for a sip, her gaze collided with Scott’s very serious, and pretty grim expression. “What? Is it gross?”
He huffed. “No, the coffee’s great. It’s you I’d like to talk about.”
Well damn. She flicked a glance at the analog clock on the wall. He’d given her a total of seven minutes before diving right in. Guess she should have been glad, he could have started in on her before he stepped in the house. Or before she got her coffee—even worse.
“I’m good, Scott. Better every day.” The words sounded so rehearsed she wouldn’t even be cast in a Soap Opera. She smiled but even that felt contrived. Hopefully he’d buy it anyway.
Scott burst out laughing. “Nice try, Clo, but I’ve known you for twenty-seven years. You think I can’t tell when you’re full of shit?”