Page 62 of Unleashed

“We have cereal.” She carefully maneuvers up from where she’s been sitting on the floor beside the sofa. “Do you like Froot Loops?”

“They’re not something I would choose for myself.” Personally, I find Froot Loops disgusting, but I’m not going to yuck someone else’s yum. “Would you rather have eggs?” I stand, stretching my arms above my head before aiming for the kitchen.

“I’m not allowed to use the stove when Maren’s asleep.” Zara begins to follow me, her steps a little wobbly.

I pause, not sure how best to navigate this moment. “Would it help if I held your hand while you walked?” I’ve noticed Maren doesn’t pick Zara up when she’s not in her chair, instead choosing to offer her hand or arm for support. I don’t know Zara well, but I do know her sister, and her sister fucking hates being carried, so I’m going to assume that’s probably another thing they have in common.

“Yeah.” Without hesitation, she reaches for me, her tiny hand gripping mine tight. “I can’t walk as fast as most people.”

“That’s okay. Most people can’t think as fast as you.”

I got to spend a lot of time with Maren’s little sister last night, and the kid is smart as fuck. We played some of her favorite games on a tablet while she crafted, and I was shocked at how quick her mind works.

“That’s true.” She walks with me all the way to the kitchen, plopping down on the floor while I put together a pot of coffee before digging through the fridge. “My teacher says I’m the best reader in class.”

I turn from where I’m pulling out a package of ham “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Maren taught me to read when I was little. Said it was important I could do it.” Zara’s eyes are wide and innocent as she says something that tilts my world on its axis. “Did you know Maren couldn’t read until she was twice my age?”

Math is something I do on a daily basis, but it still takes me way too fucking long to figure out how old that would have made her. “She was ten?”

Zara nods. “Yeah. Because she was lexic and nobody knew.”

“Do you mean dyslexic? Like she gets her letters and words mixed up?” It seems impossible given what I know about Maren. How competently she managed the supply room and how fantastically she keeps up with Brooke’s schedule.

“Yeah. Her brain gets all confused.” Zara switches gears. “Can I have my eggs scrambled, please?”

It takes me a second to catch up, but as her eyes bounce from the carton in my hand to my face, I finally manage to get with the program. “Yeah. Scrambled is fine.”

I manage to keep my expression in check until I’m facing the counter, then I let it run wild. Because what the fuck? How could Maren be dyslexic? Beyond that, how did no one notice until she was ten? Especially that she couldn’t read? I get that Maren’s mom left a lot to be desired, but shouldn’t someone at school have figured it out? Done something to help her?

I continue trying to wrap my head around what Zara told me as I crack eggs into a bowl, adding a little milk and seasoning before mixing the hell out of them with a fork.

“What in the hell?”

I turn to find the woman in question standing in the open doorway. Maren’s hair is messy and sticking out from her head. Her pajama shorts are twisted to one side, and one cheek is pink and creased from her pillow.

I was disappointed over not getting to go to bed with her last night, but I fucking hate that I wasn’t there to see her when she woke up. Because there’s something about her rumpled state that is attractive as hell.

“Why are you cooking in my kitchen?” Maren rubs at one eye before turning her gaze to where her sister sits. “We have so much cereal.”

“Which is exactly what Zara suggested.” The coffee maker has finished brewing, so I grab a mug and fill it almost to the brim, adding a little of Maren’s preferred creamer before handing it off. “But I’m not exactly a cereal lover.”

“Shocking.” Maren takes a sip of the steaming liquid. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we don’t all have steak and eggs for breakfast.”

“That’s because you two ate all the steak.” I give Zara a grin so she knows I’m teasing. “This morning you’ll have to settle for ham and eggs.”

I don’t actually eat out a lot. By the time I’m finished at work, every place worth eating at is closed. So I cook at home. Before Ruth took over as my assistant, I generally didn’t stop to eat during the day. When I finally clocked out, I was ready to chew an arm off and would eat whatever I could throw together easily at home.

I look Maren over as I dice up the ham I found in her fridge. “Why don’t you get ready while I finish this?”

I’m not trying to boss her around. Just want her to know I’ve got everything under control, and she can go do whatever she needs to do.

“Fine.” Maren takes another long sip of her coffee then disappears from sight.

As I’m adding the eggs to the pan, Zara decides she wants to be an active participant in breakfast construction. I pull up one of the chairs, helping her up so she can man the toaster. While I work on our scramble, adding cheese and setting it to melt, she feeds slices of bread into the slots. By the time Maren returns, we have three steaming plates loaded with eggs and toast, and three glasses of orange juice set around the table.

Maren has organized the waves of her hair and swapped her sleep set for a pair of high-waisted jeans and a cropped sweatshirt. A set of dangling earrings shaped like caterpillars hang from her lobes. My focus snags on them. They’re brightly colored and so different from anything I’ve seen her wear to work.