Staged (Exodus End 3)

She laughed but also blushed. “Stop. Since when do you bring women to the farm?”

Dana shot a quick glance at Roux. She was probably wondering if Roux would be as mean to her as Bianca had once been. Bianca had taken to calling Dana that hick sister of yours and commenting on Dana’s weight “problem.” What had he ever seen in that woman?

“A woman,” he said. “Just this one.”

Roux shifted awkwardly and asked, “Do you get to live out here all the time? It’s so peaceful.”

“Boring. Steve would call it boring.” Dana waved a hand at their surroundings. “But then he’s always been a partyer.”

“He does have partying down to a science,” Roux said.

Hey. The conversation was not supposed to turn to—or rather, turn against—him. “Roux is a rock star herself.”

Roux snorted. “Yeah. Huge rock star over here.” She raised her hand. “That no one has ever heard of.”

“That’s about to change,” Steve said.

“So you thought you’d corrupt her before someone else could claim that honor.”

“She’s incorruptible.”

“Boring,” Roux said. “Anyone would call me boring.”

“I’ve never been less bored in my entire life,” Steve said. He cringed when Dana burst out laughing.

“You’re so cute when you’re in love,” she said, poking him hard in the chest.

“Shut up. I’m not in love.” He was. God damn it, he knew he was. Fuck. How? Why? His gaze shifted uncomfortably to Roux, gauging her reaction to his sister’s claim, and the moment their eyes met, his heart skittered several beats. He knew how. Roux was perfection—inside and out. As to why . . . Why not? He wouldn’t mind settling down. Partying like a rock star was so last week.

“Did you get the cheese, Dana?” Mom asked when she joined their group. She held a pair of onions and several dirty potatoes in her hands.

“It’s in the house.”

“I’ll go find a bell pepper,” Roux said, retrieving the tomatoes she’d picked earlier and handing them to Steve.

“Good luck. It’s early in the season for peppers. I’ll see if the spinach is ready,” he said, wanting to get this task over with so he could find that alone time with Roux.

As soon as they went inside, Roux insisted the family farmhouse reminded her of the big brownstone in Boston. Though it wasn’t nearly as old or as opulent, it did have thick wooden doorframes and baseboards, a pocket door between the living and dining room, and the high ceilings of homes once heated with fireplaces and lacking air conditioning. In the kitchen, Roux helped him chop veggies while his family—sans Dad, who worked in a local factory during the day—settled around the kitchen island to talk loudly among each other. Every few minutes, Roux would glance at him, and he could practically feel the ache of longing coming from her.

“Do you have any siblings?” Dana asked Roux once she’d finished arguing with Pops about the superiority of John Deere tractors. Pops hated the John Deere brand, and Dana loved to get him riled up over it.

“Uh.” Roux licked her lips and concentrated on finely dicing an onion rather than meeting Dana’s curious gaze. “I have twelve foster sisters,” she said quietly.

“Twelve!”

Steve wasn’t sure whether Dana hadn’t heard or hadn’t understood the foster part of Roux’s answer, but he was glad she hadn’t fixated on it.

“There are four older than me,” Roux said. “Eight younger.”

“She and four of her sisters formed Baroquen—the band she’s in.”

“That’s fun,” Mom said.

“I had six brothers,” Pops said. “They’re all gone now except one.”

Roux reached across the counter and squeezed his wrist. “I’ve lost siblings,” she said. “It’s not something you ever get over.”

Change the subject, Steve thought, his mind reeling to find a safe—less emotionally devastating—topic.

“So which tour stop in Europe are you most looking forward to?” Steve asked Roux. “Have you been to Europe?” He didn’t know even that much about her.

“No.” There was an undercurrent of how in the hell could I afford that in her tone. “I think I’m most looking forward to Italy. Will we have time to do any sightseeing? Iona says we’ll be too busy working to enjoy our time there like a vacation.”

“I’ll take you sightseeing.” Why not? His plans to party across Europe with Zach had been completely obliterated. “Italians know how to party, but those Germans? Bring on the beer.” As soon as he spoke, he remembered that Roux didn’t drink. He shrugged. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Italy is amazing,” Dana said. “But I had the most fun in Spain. Steve sent me to Europe with a few of my friends for my twenty-fifth birthday. Occasionally he can be nice and thoughtful.” She nudged Steve’s arm.

“Occasionally?” He circled the counter and nudged Dana back, hard enough to send her teetering on her stool.

“You hardly ever visit,” she said. “I’d rather have seen you than Europe, you moron.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No need to lie to impress our guest.”

Dana rolled her eyes right back at him.

With two pans on the stove, and a very helpful sous chef in Roux, Steve was able to churn out five omelets and a mess of country fried potatoes in record time. Which was good, because as much as he loved his family, he was ready to leave.

After a brief argument over who should be allowed to sit on the remaining stool—Steve insisted the guest should sit, while Roux insisted the hard-working chef should sit—Roux settled onto the stool next to his mother and took her first bite. Steve was left standing but didn’t mind. He’d won.

“Mmm,” Roux murmured as she chewed and then swallowed. “Everything tastes so fresh.”

“Brings new meaning to farm-to-table,” Steve said. He leaned over his plate to scoop a bite into his mouth.

“The garden really takes off in July and August,” Dana said. “You’ll have to come back and visit us then. I make a mean ratatouille.”

“It’s about time to butcher a beef,” Pops declared. “I’m ready for Betty’s prime rib.”

Roux paled slightly but didn’t chastise or preach. Steve had just witnessed firsthand how much she loved animals. Normally he would have paired their omelets with a side of bacon or sausage, but not even Pops had complained about the lack of meat.

After brunch Steve left the dishes to Dana and gave Roux a quick tour of the house. She liked to touch things as he pointed them out. He hoped that meant she was a tactile lover. The only thing he enjoyed more than touching a woman was being touched by one.

In the back parlor, which was seldom used now that Mams had passed away, he showed her his grandmother’s cherished antique Steinway grand piano. Pops kept it dust free, and the mahogany gleamed from a recent polish.

“Oh,” Roux said with a moan of longing, “it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“It would mean a lot to me if you’d play it,” Steve said.

“I couldn’t,” she said, but her fingers were already clenching and unclenching as if they were dying to press the keys.

“Jenny wouldn’t mind,” Pops said. “You go ahead and play her piano, sweet girl.”

Steve spun around to find his grandfather smiling sadly in the doorway. Mom was at his elbow, and Dana was right behind, drying her hands on a dish towel.

Roux turned a worshipful gaze to the hulking instrument. “If you’re sure,” she said hesitantly.

Steve had only seen one other person gaze at that piano with such adoration. Now that he was older, he wished that he hadn’t been so adamant about not allowing his grandmother to teach him to play anything more challengin

g than “Jingle Bells.” Maybe Roux would teach him now and allow him to lay that regret to rest.

With a deep breath, Roux settled onto the bench. Memories of Mams sitting in that exact spot haunted him, and he saw his mother reach for her dad’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“What should I play?” Roux asked, flexing her fingers over the keyboard. “Something classical or more modern?”

“Do you read music?” Pops asked, hurrying over to a short bookshelf near a matching set of burgundy wingback chairs in the corner.

“Yes.”

He tugged a battered notebook from the shelf, but Steve didn’t know why.

“She wrote music her entire life,” Pops said.

She had? That was news to Steve.

“But was too uncertain to ever share it with anyone but the family.” Pops opened the notebook and set it on the music stand above the fallboard. “Seems a shame that no one but us ever got to hear it.”

“I’ll try to do it justice,” Roux said, her eyes scanning the page of neat, handwritten notes drawn across the staves. “Very nice,” she whispered to herself just before her fingers played the first note.

Steve couldn’t move as a familiar song filled the room. He’d always thought some masterful composer had written that song. He supposed one had. His Mams had obviously been talented; he’d just never recognized that until now. By the time Roux came to the end of the cheerful tune, Mom and Dana were fighting over the dish towel to dry their tears.

“That was truly lovely,” Roux said, flipping the page. “What else has she written?”

She’d played through half the notebook when Steve’s phone rang. He wanted to ignore it and stay suspended in this moment of remembrance for a while longer but decided the call might be important, especially when he recognized it was from Jordan. But would it be such a tragedy if they had to spend the entire weekend there? Steve’s libido cried out a resounding yes.