“Probably upstairs,” I told her.
“He doesn’t like the angry-man music either?”
I reached for her, but Jamie danced out of the way, giggling like a little kid.
“Uh-uh. Don’t you touch me, you big, sweaty beast.” She put another foot between us. “So, where’re you taking me for breakfast?”
“Your choice,” I told her after grabbing a towel and wiping my face. “Let me shower and we’ll head out. You mind feeding Tank?”
“Nope, I don’t mind,” she said cheerfully before bolting up the stairs.
I found myself smiling as I followed the far-too-chipper-for-six-in-the-morning girl up to the main floor.
*
Fifty minutes later, I was strolling into the small diner with Jamie on my arm. She waved at the familiar faces as we headed to the booth in the far back. The girl had never met a stranger in her life. Everyone in this little hole-in-the-wall likely knew her life story—something I wasn’t exactly happy about. There was something to be said for discretion. However, Jamie was the sort who talked to anyone who would chat with her. A gene I didn’t share with her, that was for sure.
My kid sister had somehow wrangled me into treating her to breakfast every Friday. While I offered to take her to any damn restaurant in the city, the girl insisted on this diner. Said they had the best waffles in the world. I’d have to take her word for it. I preferred meat.
After we were seated, the waitress came over to confirm our order, wanting to ensure we hadn’t changed it after nearly four years of coming here week in and week out ordering the exact same thing every time. Ever since my breakup with the first and only guy I’d ever truly committed myself to, Jamie had made a point to keep me company even on the days I insisted it wasn’t necessary.
“Thanks, Bev,” Jamie called out when the waitress shuffled to the next table. My kid sister turned to me. “She likes flirting with you.”
I grunted. A lot of women flirted with me. “Who? The waitress?”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Her name’s Beverly and she’s been waiting on us for three years, Zeke.”
“Names are irrelevant,” I told her.
“I know, I know.” She sighed. “Less personal that way. Plus, she’s not your type.”
My baby sister knew I wasn’t into women. Never had been, never would be. I didn’t make excuses for it. I lived my life how I wanted to live it. I spent time with those I wanted to spend time with. And no one could or would sway me otherwise.
“How’s school?” I asked, following the same pattern we’d fallen into for as long as I could remember. I would ask how school was, she would say good, and then we could get on to the real reason she was here. Jamie always had a reason.
“Good,” she said, smiling up at the waitress when she placed a cup of coffee in front of me and apple juice in front of Jamie.
Rather than shoot me a wide grin and ask some off-the-wall question she’d been pondering for the past week, such as What do you think of self-actualization? Or How does the mind-body connection affect our emotions?—my kid sister was a psychology major—Jamie turned far too much attention on her apple juice.
“Spit it out, kid.”
Those big brown eyes lifted to mine and I knew that whatever was about to come out of her mouth was not going to be good. I wouldn’t get lucky enough to debate nature versus nurture with her. I knew her better than she knew herself and that gleam in her eye was the equivalent of a semaphore flag.
Considering our parents died when I was sixteen—Jamie was six—I’d spent more than half my life raising her. Not solely, of course. When our folks went out to celebrate their seventeenth wedding anniversary and never came home thanks to a drunk driver causing a three-car pileup involving his truck, our parents’ car, and a semi, Jamie and I had gone to live with our maternal grandfather.
I’d grown up close to Oma and Opa, spending plenty of time there when I was little. Oma had passed away when I was fourteen from complications after a heart attack, leaving the rest of us reeling. Although still mourning the love of his life, Opa had done right by us, taking us in and doing everything a seventy-six-year-old man was capable of doing for a couple of distraught young kids. To thank him for sacrificing so much for us, I had taken care of the man until he died a year and a half ago. I still missed him. Hell, I missed all of them.
But I still had Jamie. We were the only family each of us had and we’d forged a bond over the years.
“I have a favor to ask,” Jamie prompted, her eyes still glued to her glass.
