“Right.” He sat forward and clasped his own empty bottle, his hands close to hers. “That.”
He didn’t say anything else, though, and she looked at him fully. Waiting. With a pained expression, he sat back again.
Frustration wore at her edges, helped along by the earworm song she detested that came on the radio just then. Again. Even from her beloved Buffalo station. “I hate that song,” she muttered.
His beer bottle clattered onto its side and he righted it. “It is pretty annoying.”
“Right? I mean the singer’s got a nice enough voice but that song is played way too often.” She fiddled with her phone and found another station, then took the empty bottles into the kitchen to toss in the recycling bin. Her brother and Harper were still MIA, so she grabbed a bag of marshmallows and went back outside. “Boys! Bring your light sabers over here.”
Even though the sun was starting to set, they plainly saw the bag that she held and made a beeline from across the yard.
She checked the ends of their sticks for signs of obvious mud and, finding none, impaled a marshmallow on each one. “Hold it over the grill,” she told them. “There’s still enough heat from the coals to toast them. But stand right here.” She positioned them as far from the kettle as possible. “Murphy, get back.” She snapped her fingers and pointed behind her.
The dog interpreted that as “climb into my seat.”
She let it pass and focused on her nephews. “All right, guys, no closer than right here or you might get burned. Remember when Toby burned his finger on the stove?”
They wore twin frowns of concentration mingled with wariness and she returned to her seat. The dog looked up at her, one maple-colored ear cocked forward hopefully.
Resigned, she scooped him up and sat down with him on her lap, holding the marshmallow bag out of his range.
“Cute dog.”
“If you like a crooked-eared mongrel,” she allowed, nuzzling the dog’s head. “I guess he’s okay.” If she were brave, she’d tell Jay to either start talking or just leave. Instead, she shook the marshmallow bag. “Want one? I can get another stick for you. Or a proper long-handled fork if you’re squeamish.”
“I’m not squeamish, but I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.” She plucked a marshmallow from the bag and shoved it in her mouth. She didn’t need to toast a marshmallow to love a marshmallow. She leaned forward to toss the bag on the table and adjusted the volume on the speaker again.
“What kind of music do you like?” Jay gestured at the speaker. “It’s obviously not Jett Carr.”
Harper walked out onto the patio. “Isn’t he that singer everyone is looking for?”
Brady was on her heels and he spotted the bag of marshmallows and aimed for it as quickly as Toby and Tyler had done. “Publicity stunt.” He grabbed a handful and dragged his chair over to the boys. They were still waiting for their marshmallows to turn at least the faintest tinge of gold and they immediately climbed onto his knees. “Gotta be a publicity stunt.”
Harper stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t be so cynical.” She kissed the top of his head. “When those marshmallows finish toasting, it’s off to bed with you boys.”
“What’s cynical?” Brady jabbed the coals with the poker, spurring them along. “The guy puts out a music video that supposedly goes viral just when he seems to disappear off the planet? Too coincidental if you ask me. He’s probably sipping margaritas sitting on some beach in the Bahamas, raking in the money.”
Jay snorted. “There’re more singers scraping by than sitting around raking in money.”
“Says the hotel trainee,” Arabella drawled. “What did you do before you started there? Aside from getting your private pilot’s license, I mean.”
He reached for the marshmallow bag, evidently unable to resist the lure, after all. “I wasn’t flying drugs back and forth across the border if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“He used to work at an insurance company in California,” Brady said, then spread his hands when they all looked at him. “I checked his personnel file,” he said defensively.
Jay was frowning. “What for?”
“I know exactly what for!” Arabella jabbed her finger in the air at Brady. Because he was an overprotective big brother who wanted to know more about “her crush,” as he called it. “You had no business doing that.”
“I had every business,” Brady countered unapologetically. His gaze skated over Jay. “You were hired early on at the hotel. Before the balcony collapse. After that, they started doing deeper background checks on the employees.”
“But the balcony was an accident!” Arabella wanted to throttle Brady.
Her brother’s expression didn’t change. “Tell the insurance company covering the hotel that.” He looked at Jay again. “Security’s reviewed the files for all of the original employees at this point, so don’t take it personally.”
“You’re not security,” Arabella said through her teeth. “You’re the concierge.”
Jay waved his hand. His frown was gone. “He’s right. No reason to take it personally. At Hotel Fortune, everyone pitches in where they’re needed.”
Arabella shook her head. “Stop making excuses for my brother, Jay. As usual, he’s sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“My marshmallow’s on fire,” Tyler suddenly wailed.
“It’s fine,” Harper assured calmly and showed him how to blow it out.
“But now it’s black!”
“That’s the best way,” Jay told him. “Crispy and burnt a little on the outside and—”
“—gooey on the inside,” Arabella finished. “That’s my favorite way to eat toasted marshmallows.” She addressed her nephew but from the corner of her eye, she saw Jay’s dimple flash.
Somewhat mollified, Tyler subsided, leaning back against Brady’s chest while he waited for the gooey marshmallow to cool enough to eat. Toby, on the other hand, had already eaten his marshmallow before it got to such an inflamed state and he was climbing onto Harper’s lap now that she’d pulled up a chair alongside Brady’s.
The afternoon of water play, sunshine
