Page 8 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“She really is.” He clears his throat and pushes off the counter, walking around it to rinse his coffee mug in the sink. “Thank you. For the groceries. You’re a gem.”
“You’re welcome. That was actually Wes’s idea. He told me that you and—” I break off, scrunching my eyes shut, hoping he didn’t notice my near-misstep. “He told me youhad pizza and beer waiting for him when he got to Sydney. So yeah, just returning the favor!” I wave my fingers in the air, andoh my god.I need to calm down.
He runs a hand over his lips, hiding a grin, and the tension that was lingering in his shoulders eases.
“Everything else okay with the house?” I say, moving to a safer topic. “I had dinner with my mom and dad last night and they wanted me to make sure you were comfortable.”
“It’s great. Better than, actually. Maybe if I’d actually looked at the listing I would’ve known this place had a foosball table. Willow mopped the floor with me this morning.”
“She plays foosball? Isn’t she like eight?” I ask, surprised.
“Seven, at least for two more months. But yeah, her school has a table and she’s a full-fledged champion now.” He chuckles. “We bought our own table earlier this year. You should see her go toe to toe with Wes. The two of them trash talk each other likecrazy.” He rubs at his chin. “I might’ve let that get a little out of hand though, so now I’m attempting to reel it back in.”
“She’s a little competitive, huh?”
“You could say that. She and Wes feed off each other like a couple of feral kids, which of course, she is, but Wes…” Breck laughs and shakes his head. “He’s always right there with her.”
“He would be. I swear he’s just a big kid at heart. So, are you and Willow hungry?”
“Yes!” Willow’s enthusiastic voice comes from behind me, and I twirl around to see her standing at the foot of the stairs in a pair of lightweight leggings, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes.
“Umm, Breck?”
“Hmm?” He steps up behind me, a questioning hum coming from much too close. My body tenses at the unexpected proximity.
“Please tell me she has warmer clothes than that.” My voice is quieter, embarrassingly breathy as I catch my bearings. “Otherwise, I think our first stop will need to be Target.”
“That’s a complicated answer. She has some warmer clothes, but I’ll need to supplement her wardrobe now that we’re here. Would you mind looking at what we have and helping me come up with a list of what she still needs?”
I turn and come face-to-face with his chest. He steps back but only enough so I can look up at him. He’s about six inches taller than me, even with my boots on, and is much more comfortable with this closeness than I am apparently. A sandy blond curl falls across his forehead and he shakes it back. Behind the persistent strands are piercing sky-blue eyes. I’m entranced, a little unsettled, and warmth blooms across my cheeks.
“Sure.” My voice squeaks out and I feign a cough in order to continue at a normal decibel. “Do you want to do that now? Or later? We could go get lunch first and then come back, take stock, and go from there?”
“I’m guessing from your reaction that Willow isn’t dressed appropriately for lunch, so maybe a quick inventory and then lunch, and you can pick out something warmer while we’re at it?”
I turn back to Willow, taking my first full breath since he walked up behind me. “Alright, girly, lead the way.”
We walk into pure chaos when we get upstairs. Her luggage is splayed open on the bottom bunk and there are exactly zero items still inside—and it’s not a small suitcase. The dresser drawers sit partially open and a few things are hanging haphazardly in the closet. Mostly, there are piles of what used to be neatly folded clothes all over the floor. The only things that look like they were placed with care are her tablet and a small frame holding a picture of Breck, Willow, and Talia.
My eyes catch on it and can’t seem to move on. I’ve seen pictures of Talia before, from Wes’s time in Sydney the last six months, but it seems to shine a light on the situation even more. Willow’s resemblance to her mom is uncanny—to both her parents really, but there’s so much of Talia in her. I’m struck anew by how hard that must be for Breck. Willow, too.
Her dark hair reaches long down her back exactly like Talia’s. It’s stick-straight and shiny, like inky black curtains. Her coloring is closer to Talia’s too, more olive than the sun-kissed bronze of Breck’s. They have the same straight nose and matching crinkles at the corners of their eyes.
She’s a beautiful little girl, and one day she’ll be a stunning woman.
Breck walks in, and his proclamation of “holy shit” draws both my mind and my eyes away from the photo and back to the task at hand.
“Ha! Swear jar for you, Daddy,” Willow says, a gleam in her eye. “Wait, you did remember to bring the swear jar, right?”
“Of course. How could I forget the swear jar? I’m pretty sure it’s how we’re going to pay for this condo,” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes. She’s got attitude for days.
I stifle a laugh behind my hand. “Oh, you can’t be that bad.”
He grimaces but quickly follows it up with a smile. “Let’s just say Willow has a real chance at Taylor Swift tickets if I don’t clean up my act.” Willow jumps up and down like that would be the ultimate prize in life.
“I bet Uncle Wes had to contribute to the swear jar quite a bit, didn’t he?” I say, looking at Willow, and she bursts out laughing, her nod emphatic.
Breck laughs too. “He started prepaying with a twenty every time he came over because it made more sense than paying as he went. The Navy really did him no favors on that one.”
