5. CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

T he kids were still asleep, as was Jagger on the couch, when Bennett arrived back at the house.

Emme's alarm would go off in fifteen minutes, then she'd wake up Aya, which would wake up Jagger, and the morning hustle and bustle to get dressed, fed, and out the door would begin.

But he still had fifteen minutes of peace.

Of quiet and darkness.

It was a weird quirk, but he'd had it since he was a kid and the power went out for three days straight because of a fallen tree across a major power line; Bennett loved to shower in the dark.

Not the pitch black, of course. He still needed to see what he was doing. He needed to make sure he washed his hair with dandruff shampoo and not body wash, which was why he had a big window in the bathroom to allow natural light to filter in.

But without the harsh glare of an overhead light, his showers were much more peaceful. The worries that plagued him every hour of every day didn't penetrate his light-free shower. It was ten minutes of solace, of guilt-free, stress-free him-time . And for some reason, that level of peace didn't translate when the light was on.

He stripped out of his sweaty running clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom tile. They were all military boys—besides Jagger—so everything in all of their houses was neat and tidy. The beds were made with military corners and there was no clutter—besides the kids' rooms, of course. Clutter and knick-knacks made for a messy mind, and there was no need for superfluous anything. He didn't have more towels than he needed, or more pants or shorts than was acceptable. Everything in his house had a place and a purpose, and if it didn't, then it didn't stay.

Like the cabins, they needed to let the shower run for a few minutes before the hot water kicked in. So he placed his hands on the bathroom vanity and leaned forward, studying his scruffy, weathered old-man face in the mirror.

Was he a grump?

No, but he sure as hell had the frown lines that would make people think he was. Deep crevices between his brows and around his mouth told the world that he scowled a lot. Maybe he did. Maybe he had resting man-bitch face, and he didn't even know it. Resting mitch face? Was that a thing?

Misogynists were always telling women to smile more, but maybe he needed to make a conscious effort to smile more. He already knew that his kids thought he was a grump. And he was actively trying to change that.

The water temperature was acceptable, so he stepped under the spray, letting it wash over his achy muscles and banish the chill that seeped into his bones as he stood naked in front of the mirror. Much like Clint, Wyatt, and Dom, he still wore his dog tags around his neck. They were a part of him just as much as his legs, nose, or cock. The girls liked playing with them when they sat on his lap, but he usually made a point of tucking them under his shirt. They just prompted questions from people he'd rather not tell his life's story to.

His mind drifted back to Justine. She was someone to share his life's story with.

She was an impressive runner. She kept pace with him no problem, and barely seemed winded. He was extremely curious about what kind of music she listened to while running, but he forgot to ask. Their interactions at first seemed forced by him, but once they got on the topic of cake, it all changed.

Then she went so far as to offer to help him and contribute to his donations.

Before he knew it, thoughts of Justine had his cock standing straight up.

Taking himself in his palm and with thoughts of Justine's tight, perky ass in those fitness pants running through his brain, he stroked himself root to tip.

The interest couldn't all be in his head like he initially convinced himself, right?

She could have easily told him to ‘fuck off,' that she wanted to run on her own. And she definitely didn't have to offer to bake cupcakes or cakes. Was she just being nice though?

He and his brothers drilled it into the kids' heads that women did not have to be nice to men they didn't know, and men should not take women being nice to them as a sign that they're interested. The kids were still young, but that respect and consent stuff needed to start as early as possible, so it became second nature. They had no plans to raise asshole men or doormat women.

But she seemed interested.

There was a sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him, and the way her cheeks pinked up, drowning out the freckles, sent his pulse racing.

It wasn't long before his thoughts of Justine turned racier. She was probably having a shower right now as well. Which meant she'd be naked, wet and—he came faster than he expected, painting the tile wall with his cum as the orgasm rocked through him. His toes curled and his heart rate thundered in his ears, as his balls cinched up against his taint and the warmth in his lower belly spread through the rest of his body.

Fuck.

It was like he was a fourteen-year-old again, just starting his concerningly frequent masturbation journey. All he needed was a damn tube sock and a crusty Playboy with the pages stuck together.

He'd never come that fast.

What the fuck?

Well, whatever. With that out of the way, he finished washing his body and hair in the dimly lit bathroom. Since it was still foggy outside, not much light filtered through the window, but he liked it that way. It kept his nerves from going bonkers and allowed him a few more moments of peace before he stepped out of the shower and all hell broke loose for the day.

Another two minutes standing under the spray with his eyes closed was all he gave himself before he reluctantly shut off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. The sounds of the kids awake in their bathroom let him know his quiet, peaceful morning was no more.

Then came a scream. Most likely from Aya. Followed by crying.

He counted to five and sure enough, a tiny fist pounded on his bedroom door.

Making sure the towel was secure around his waist, he opened the door to a teary-eyed Aya with a wild bedhead and pillow creases on her face.

"What's up, Little Bug?"

Her chin wobbled, and a fat tear slid down the crease of her little nose. "Emme is being mean to me."

"How so?"

Emerson emerged at the mention of her name. Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms and cocked her hip into the jamb of her bedroom door. "I am not. I just said that I wanted five minutes in the bathroom by myself. We don't have to do everything together. I want to brush my teeth and pee without an audience. Is that too much to ask?"

"I have to pee too," Aya said, sticking her tongue out at her sister. "And brush my teeth."

"I said you could have the bathroom after me." Emme glanced up at Bennett for sympathy. "Seriously, Dad, I'm nine-years-old. Is it too much for me to ask for five minutes in the bathroom by myself?"

Bennett double-checked his towel before crouching down to Aya's level. Then he thought better of it and pulled her into his room. He sat down on the bed and kept her standing in front of them so they were eye-to-eye. "I don't think it's too much for your sister to ask for five minutes of bathroom privacy."

Aya scowled at him. "I had to pee too."

"And we have another bathroom downstairs that you could use."

"Uncle Jagger was pooping in it."

"Was not!" Jagger called out from downstairs. "Don't blame me, Short Stack."

"Why are you still here?" Bennett called down to his brother.

"I only just woke up when Aya screamed bloody murder. Leaving now." Then the front door opened and closed a second later.

Bennett focused back on his youngest daughter. "Three things. First: we do not scream like that unless someone has severed off one of our limbs. Got it?"

Aya nodded and exhaled heavily through her nose.

"Second: you and Emme both deserve privacy in the bathroom. We all do. I know you two pee with the door open, but if Emme wants to start peeing with the door closed, then you need to respect that. There are three people in this house and three bathrooms. Nobody should ever have to wait. And third, Emme, get in here too, please." He waited until Emerson entered his room too, a look of mild irritation on her face. He ignored it. "Maybe if you got your bathroom business done before you woke up Aya, you wouldn't have to fight her for it. You already get up at your alarm. So just go and wake her up once you're done in the bathroom. Does that sound like a reasonable solution?"

Emme shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, I can probably do that."

Aya's little chest stuttered as she pulled in deeper and deeper breaths. She turned to her sister. "Sorry I called you a dumb-head."

Bennett's brows rose. "You didn't tell me that part."

Aya bit her lip. "'Cause it would have made me look bad."

"It sure would have." He tried to keep his amusement from showing, but the girls knew him too well and before long, they were all giggling. "All right. Emme, go do what you need to do in the bathroom. Aya, if you have to pee, you can use my bathroom."

The girls nodded and went to do what they needed to do. Bennett took the thirty seconds of privacy and quiet while Aya was in his bathroom with the door closed, to get dressed for the day.

Oh, if only all the fires he needed to put out were as simple as a silly spat between the children. Normally, the girls got along quite well, but as all siblings did from time to time, they pushed each other's buttons until somebody snapped.

Aya emerged from the bathroom a moment later. "How many more days are left of school?"

"Well, it's Monday, and the funfair and last day of school is Friday. So, that's five days, Little Bug. Then you're free for the summer."

She nodded. "I need a break. I'm exhausted from all the learning. It just never ends." Then she wandered across the hall to her bedroom, leaving Bennett snickering as he quickly finger-combed gel into his hair.

Both his girls were smart, cheeky, and hilarious. Not to mention kind, affectionate, and all-around wonderful. But Aya put him in stitches so much with the things that came out of her mouth. She was his critical thinker. The one who really kept him on his toes. The cogs in her brain never stopped spinning, and even though he wasn't entirely sure reincarnation was a thing, she definitely had an old soul. She was like a wise, and slightly cranky, old lady trapped in the body of a seven-year-old.

Then there was Emerson. She was mature and thoughtful. Gentle and patient. She stepped up to help with her cousins and sister almost immediately after Carla and the other women passed away. She took care of all of them with a kind of grace that reminded him so much of her mother. She could be indecisive at times, overly cautious and sometimes even timid—though everyone came across as timid next to Aya who would jump into a pool without checking the depth or water temperature first—but he figured that was just her being the oldest child who wanted to make sure that everything was copasetic for the rest.

He'd truly hit the jackpot when it came to his offspring. And although he was doing his best not to traumatize them; he attributed the majority of their wonderfulness to Carla and her steadfast, patient, and affectionate parenting.

He fixed the girls their breakfast like he did every morning—cereal for Aya, and peanut butter toast for Emerson—always. Then he double-checked that their lunches were packed with all the nutritional essentials. That they had their water bottles, sunscreen, and sunhats. Then along with his brothers, niece, and nephews, they all walked to the bus stop on the main road at the end of the long laneway that served as the driveway to their property.

"How many years of this do I have to deal with, Dad?" Aya asked, her little hand in his and getting kind of sweaty as they walked to the bus stop with everyone else.

"How many years of what?"

"School. How many years of school do I have to deal with before I can get a job like you and just do what I want? Until I don't have to learn anymore. I get it, ‘ A' says ‘ ah .' One plus one is two. Do I really need to know more than that? Isn't that why we have calculators?" She made an exasperated sound that caused Bennett and his three brothers to all snicker.

"Well, mandatory school is thirteen years. You're just finishing up first grade. So you have eleven more to go. Then if you decide to go to college, you'll have more schooling."

"Oh, I am not going to college. I'll get a job where you don't need college first. Like a doctor or a pilot or …" She glanced at Bennett's brother Wyatt. "Like a chef, like Uncle Wyatt. Anybody can cook. I don't need to go to school to cook. I'll just watch YouTube videos."

Wyatt rolled his eyes. "I'm glad my profession and education have been reduced to nothing more than a YouTube video. I'll call my instructors at Le Cordon Bleu and ask for my money back."

Aya looked at him like he was speaking another language.

"And I'm pretty sure you need to go to school for a long time to be a doctor," Bennett added. "Actually, Justine is a doctor. You can ask her."

Aya perked up and Emme turned to look at him. "How do you know that? Have you been spending time with Justine?"

"I want to spend time with Justine," Aya said. "Not fair."

"Yes, Bennett . Have you been spending time with Justine?" Dom asked teasingly. "I met her the other night when she came to the pub to order dinner." He mouthed the word hot and nodded in approval.

"Turns out she's a runner too, and we both like to run in the morning. I bumped into her this morning. That's all. No big deal."

But the looks he was getting from his brothers said it was absolutely a big deal.

His kids, however, seemed more put out that he got to spend time with Justine and they didn't.

They reached the bus stop.

"I need to find a job that doesn't need school," Aya murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She was still on this topic, though the other children were off in their own little worlds. Emme and Talia were chatting about the braid Brooke made in Talia's hair, and the boys were doing air Karate Chops and leaping off a big rock, doing elaborate kicks.

The big, yellow school bus rounded the corner and all four dads exhaled in relief.

They loved their kids, but the wildlings needed to expel some energy.

Luckily, every morning, the entire school ran or walked five laps around the field before any lessons. It proved to be very effective in reducing anxiety and hyper-activity in a lot of the children.

One by one, the kids filed onto the bus, greeting Palmer Figgs, the school bus driver, with effervescent hellos.

"Mornin', Mr. Figgs," Aya said. Then she stopped before heading down the aisle, causing Emme to bump into her backpack and make a squawk of protest. "Mr. Figgs, did you have to go to school to be a bus driver?"

Palmer glanced behind the kids at Bennett and lifted a brow.

Bennett rolled his eyes and shrugged.

Palmer focused back on Aya. "Not to be a school bus driver, no. But I did go to school. I was an engineer, you know. Worked on spaceships for thirty years before Mrs. Figgs and I retired and moved to the island here when her dad passed away and left us his land."

Bennett didn't have to see his daughter's face to know she was pouting. The rounding of her shoulders said it all. "Well, I don't want to work on spaceships." Her head shook, bouncing her curly, blonde hair that Bennett had managed to tame into two acceptable pigtails. "Thanks anyway." She turned around, her face sullen. "Bye, Daddy."

Bennett smothered his amused smile and nodded at his daughter. "Have a good day, Little Bug."

"Doubt it," she said before slumping her way down the aisle, taking a seat with her cousin Jake.

The rest of the kids filed on the bus, and it pulled away. Bennett and his brothers all headed back toward the pub and their houses.

"So, cabin five. Hmm?" Clint asked, bumping his shoulder against Bennett's.

Bennett rolled his eyes. "It's nothing."

"Sure," Dom joked. The four of them walked in a long line, Bennett flanked by Clint and Dom, with Wyatt on the end.

"We have bigger problems to deal with right now than my mild attraction to the guest in cabin five."

Their expressions turned serious.

"You three," but he directed his glares at Wyatt and Clint, "need to stop spending fucking money without telling me. You can't keep buying shit and then handing me an invoice. Do you know where that money is coming from?"

Wyatt and Clint's expressions turned stoney, their cheeks pink.

"From our pockets. We have a monthly budget. And if we don't stick to it, then the money has to come from somewhere and that usually means us . You can't just buy equipment—"

"But we needed a new fryer," Wyatt protested.

"I understand that, but you need to tell me, then let me do some research. Maybe I could have bought one second hand for cheaper to tide us over until we saved up for the luxury model. I know the busy season is here and we will be making more money, but that also means we have more staff. And our expenses will go up because we'll be placing more orders for ingredients." He looked at Wyatt again. "Your new seasonal menu has a lot of seafood on it. That's pricey. Have you done the ROI assessment on what you're spending versus what you're charging? I know Willy Reilly just upped the price of his crabs. And Dorian Jazz is charging nearly double per pound from last year for his halibut, snapper, and cod. Don't even get me started on Fitz Plamondon and his salmon prices. I mean, I get it, but the price per pound of sockeye now is outrageous. Have you upped the price of your crab cakes and fish dishes accordingly?"

"We can't gouge our customers," Dom said. "They'll go somewhere else. Somewhere cheaper."

"They come here for the service, food, booze and view. If we keep it all excellent, a price increase shouldn't affect us too much. But we have to increase prices." His gaze fell to Dom. "Across the board. So this means the bar too."

Dom opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. He knew Bennett was right. It was a tough pill to swallow, but they all knew Bennett was speaking the truth.

Bennett's temperature was up and he regretted the long-sleeve shirt he tossed on after his shower. He focused on Clint. "Beer too. Barley prices are still through the roof, and until we start growing our own hops—which is several years away and only if we get Bonn Remmen's land—we need to increase prices."

Just like Dom, Clint opened his mouth, but he thought better of it, shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded.

"Customers aren't going to like this," Wyatt said. "We're going to get a lot of backlash. Bad reviews and complaints."

"Maybe, but we can't continue down this road. Everything is too fucking expensive. If we want to pay our staff fairly and not make them reliant on tips the way other restaurants do, then we need to increase prices to reflect the increase in costs. There's no other way around it." He inflated his cheeks, then released a long, slow breath.

Luckily, his brothers all nodded and grumbled their agreement.

Bennett exhaled another sigh of relief and let the tension flee his shoulders by way of an exaggerated roll and side-to-side neck crack.

Chuckling, Dom slapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. "Were you nervous about having this conversation with us? You're sweating like crazy."

Bennett chuckled. "Yeah, a little. I know you've all cultivated relationships with customers—and suppliers—and it's not going to be easy to have these conversations with them. It's easier for me to say it from the back of the house, but you're all going to feel the brunt of it being front of the house and in the kitchen."

More head bobs and grunts of agreement echoed through them.

"I'm sorry I didn't consult with you first about the fryer," Wyatt said with a hangdog expression. "Next time I need a new piece of pricey equipment, I'll let you know first."

"Me too," Clint added. "About the brewery equipment. You're the money guy. I should let you handle the money."

Bennett's mouth couldn't muster a smile. He managed flatly pressed lips, that was it.

"Can we sit down together today and go through the menu?" Wyatt asked, his jovial expression gone, replaced with one of serious concern. "I know we need to up our prices, but charging close to fifty bucks for an entrée makes me want to vomit. It just feels wrong. I know it's not. I know it needs to happen. It just feels wrong."

Bennett nodded. "Of course. Come by my office later and we can sit down and go through the meals and come up with suitable price increases." He glanced at Dom out of the corner of his eye. "You too." Then he shifted his gaze to Clint. "And don't think you're getting off the hook. Our beer flies off the shelves. We can stand to charge more."

Clint stared at the ground and kicked a rock, nodding. "Yeah, I know."

They reached the bottom of the hill that led to their houses, but none of them went up. Their work day officially began. A delivery truck was already there and Burke, Wyatt's head chef, was helping the delivery driver unload. Wyatt jogged away from their line to go help.

"You okay?" Dom asked, fishing keys out of his pocket so he could open up the pub.

"Yeah. Glad to finally get that woe off my chest."

Dom mimicked Bennett's grim smile, nodded, and headed to the front door of the pub. That left just Bennett and Clint.

"I am sorry I bought that equipment without running it past you first." Clint kicked a baseball-sized rock off into the bushes. The parking lot was gravel, but a big rock like that could damage someone's tire. "I need a few other pieces of equipment. Not immediately. It's not life or death, but I'll submit the purchase request to you and then you can go from there. Sound good?"

Bennett's smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, sounds good."

The crunch of gravel beneath car tires pulled their attention, and they moved over to the side so a vehicle from the cabins could drive through.

It was Justine.

Bennett's heart rate kicked up, seeing her behind the wheel. She had the same understated ponytail fixed at the back of her head and appeared to just be wearing a simple gray hoodie. Obviously, he couldn't see what she had on for pants. That didn't stop his mind from racing though.

He smiled and waved at her, which prompted her to slow down and roll down her window.

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"I'm going to go do some more exploring. Another hike, and maybe check out some of the other beaches. I also need to go buy some cake ingredients." That last bit of info pulled her lips into a demure smile.

"Oh, don't buy anything. I have enough of all of it. You offering to help is more than enough. Come up to the house and I'll give you what you need."

Even though it wasn't meant to be suggestive, she must have interpreted it that way because her cheeks grew pink and she broke eye contact with him. "Anyway, I should let you get to work. Enjoy your day, Bennett." She nodded at Clint and then pulled away, her window rolling up in the process.

"What the hell was that about?" Clint asked, all-knowing smiles and glittering eyes.

Bennett grumbled. "She's offered to help bake cupcakes and cakes for the end-of-year funfair. When we ran together today, she told me she likes to bake and decorate cakes too. That's all."

"That's all?"

"Yes, that is all." He scoffed. "I have to get to work. And so do you. Go work, Clinton. Make us some money." Then, with his conflicting emotions, Bennett trudged off to his office where he couldn't get the image of Justine's pink cheeks out of his head. Her hair was so straight and so silky. He could just imagine what that ponytail felt like slipping through his fingers. And all he wanted to do was tug it. Tug it and guide her mouth to his.

Fuck, he needed another shower.

And this time, a cold one.