3. Cleo

3

CLEO

T he smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the apartment. I breathe in deeply as I take my mug from the cafe-grade coffee machine that uses freshly ground beans. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet as I pad into the living room.

The view from the floor to ceiling windows looks out over Bourbon, with sweeping plains to the left and brown dusty hills rising in the distance. The sky hangs heavy and gray, full of the snow that the weather forecast has been promising. It hardly ever snows in Texas, so there’s been a lot of talk about the gathering snow clouds.

It looks cold outside, but I’m toasty in here with the central heating warming the entire place.

I set the mug on the coffee table and open my laptop.

With Ethan away, I’m not needed in the office, and he’s given me the okay to work from home for the last few days that I’m working before Christmas.

Work from his home, that is. My boss loves to travel and I’ve been house sitting for him ever since I took the job of executive assistant two years ago.

I was sent to his office for work experience by MUEVE, the Manifieste Una Espléndida Vida Exitosa. They’re a charity that helps ex-foster kids transition into the adult world.

Ethan took a chance on me, and after the two weeks of work experience was up, he offered me a full-time position. I’ve been fiercely loyal to him ever since.

I log in to work and check my emails. With the boss away and half the office off for Christmas, there’s not much going on.

I type a few replies to meeting requests and push the laptop aside.

I love staying at Ethan and Craig’s place. It’s so much more comfortable than my tiny studio apartment, but there’s another reason I love coming here.

Dropping to the floor, I crawl over to the oak bookcase.

My fingers run over the spines on the bottom shelf until I come to my favorite album.

I pull out the well-worn photo album and thumb through the pages.

Ethan’s smiling face when he was a boy stares out at me. He’s with his younger brother, both of them on bikes, while a woman crouches next to them, a proud motherly smile on her face.

The next photo shows the whole family. The two boys with Mom and Dad. Dad holds the younger brother in his arms, tiny hands clasped around his solid neck.

A pang of envy runs through me as I look through the family photo album. I never had a family like this. There are no photos of me as a child and certainly no loving parents helping me ride a bike or playing with me at the park.

There’s a small pang of envy, but mostly I find the photos comforting.

Ethan’s a good man. I’m glad he had a happy childhood. The photos give me hope. Maybe someday I can have a family like his.

I flick through the pages as the boys get older, the younger brother with dark hair and a constant scowl on his face that contrasts with Ethan’s good-natured smile.

There’s something about the younger brother that I find intriguing. As he gets older, he seems more remote, and I wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes.

The photos get less frequent as the boys get older. There’re some holiday snaps at a beach when they’re teenagers and neither seem happy to be photographed.

By this time, the brother is looking positively hot, especially in an Iron Maiden t-shirt with tight black jeans and scruffy hair. I stare into his dark eyes, wondering what’s going on in his head, wondering what kind of a man he grew into, this troubled-looking kid.

On the next page, he’s straddling a small motorbike. He must be barely eighteen and just learning to ride. He’s smiling in this one, like the bike is the thing that lights him up.

A few pages later and the photos stop abruptly, the album half-finished.

Ethan told me what happened to his parents—the accident that took both their lives.

The boys were in their early twenties by then, but it’s still a tragedy to lose both parents. From what Ethan’s told me, I know he set off travelling while his brother stayed behind on the Sunset Coast.

The rest of the pages in the album are empty, and I slide it back in its place on the shelf, wondering if I’ll ever know what happened to Ethan’s dark-eyed brother. I’ve thought about asking Ethan, but I’ve never worked up the courage.

The next album is of Ethan and his travels through North America and across the border into South America. I flick through these quickly, not so interested in the places he’s been.

It’s when Ethan meets Craig that I slow down again.

They’re both so young and carefree here, lounging about on white sandy beaches, checking out the markets of Buenos Aries, and hiking in the Andes. The next pages are of them settling in Bourbon where Craig grew up. Then there’re their holidays that get more elaborate every year.

Florida, Alaska, and the European tour.

I like looking at Ethan and Craig together. Their travels over the last ten years take up two more albums. They’re always happy, with their arms around each other or with groups of other travelers.

As they get older, the places they stay get nicer. Cheap hostels are replaced with hotels and then five-star experiences. But the love they have always shines through in the photos.

I wonder if I’ll ever meet anyone who looks at me like that.

Probably not.

This kind of family, this kind of love, isn’t for someone like me. My own mother didn’t even want me, so why would someone else?

It’s while I’m thumbing through the final album that there’s a knock at the door.

I snap the album closed and slide it back to its place before going to the door.

It’s probably a delivery. Ethan’s always ordering stuff online, and Fitzy must have let them up the elevator.

But when I open the door, it’s not a delivery driver. It’s a bearded man in biking leathers wearing an Underground Crows Motorcycle Club jacket.

The man looks surprised to see me but not as surprised as I am to see him. I don’t recognize the patch on his jacket, but anyone in an MC has got to be bad ass.

I start to shut the door, but then I properly look at his face.

His dark eyes narrow at me, and there’s a half-scowl on his lips. I’d recognize that brooding look anywhere.

Ethan’s brother eyes me suspiciously.

“Is Ethan about?”

“No,” I say slowly. If it was any stranger at the door, I would leave it at that, but it’s Ethan’s brother. Surely he knows Ethan’s away.

“He’s in Barbados.”

The brother’s eyes widen, making me wonder if they still talk to each other.

“Barbados,” he says, surprised. “Is he back for Christmas?”

“No.”

“Damn. I just rode over fifteen hundred miles to spend Christmas with my big brother.”

“I guess you should’ve called first.” I fold my arms across my chest because I’ve just noticed the tote bag he’s got slung over his shoulder and I don’t like where this is going.

The brother’s eyes rake down my chest and hips, lazily going over my body and making me shift uncomfortably as heat pools in my belly.

I’m not used to being looked at like that. I spend a lot of time hoping people don’t notice me, dying my hair black and putting on dark makeup, making myself unapproachable. But I didn’t think I’d be seeing anyone today. My face is bare, and I’m wearing sweatpants. It’s uncomfortable without my armor on.

“Soo, Ethan’s not here, and I’ve got work to do…”

I start to close the door, and the brother wedges a black booted foot into the doorframe.

“Not so fast. Who are you and why are you in my brother’s apartment?”

He eyes me suspiciously, but I give zero fucks. He can go call Ethan if he wants. Although maybe as the brother of my boss he deserves an explanation.

“I’m house sitting.”

The brother nods slowly like he’s not sure he believes me. I fix him with my best go-fuck-yourself stare, but the son of a bitch doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, he holds out a hand that’s red raw from cold with what looks like mechanic grease under the fingernails. I guess he’s still into bikes.

“I’m Kray.”

I eye the hand but don’t offer him mine.

“I don’t bite,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips.

“But I might,” I retort.

He chuckles and his face breaks into a genuine smile. Damn, he’s hot. Which brings my defenses down a little.

“I’m Cleo.”

I shake his hand in what I hope is a formal way. His palms are callused, the rough edges nicking my soft skin and causing tendrils of heat to zing up my arm. I pull away quickly and look down, hoping he didn’t notice.

“So, Cleo, you gonna invite me in, or am I gonna stand out here in the cold all day?”

I should close the door and send him on his way, but there’s a vicious wind blowing, and those clouds look like they’re going to dump snow any minute. Besides, he’s my boss’s brother. It’s not going to look good if I close the door on him.

“Fine.” I open the door wide. “But hurry up. You’re letting the cold air in.”