I realize I’ve been awkwardly staring at them sitting at their table—though luckily, they’re too busy admiring the view outside to notice—and hurry to the back to get set up. Thankfully, Doug already has the coffee brewing and is chopping produce for the morning rush.

“Morning, sunshine.” He kisses the top of my head as I dump the contents of the basket onto the counter. “How’s the new stuff lookin’?”

“Good, I brought you some to try out,” I reply, leaning back into his affectionate touch.

I’m very close to both of my parents, but my dad and I share a special bond that is indescribable. I’ve been the only one of all six daughters, since Denver is still too young, to show any interest in horticulture. I can’t even count the hours Doug and I have spent in the greenhouses together, bonding over our love of everything green.

“Awesome. You want to sample some too before I leave?” He reaches in his pocket and tosses a pack of zigzag papers on the counter. “I even have these with me.”

Laughing, I shake my head as I pour a cup of java, not bothering to add any cream or sugar—another shared trait of ours. “Nah, I’ve already got customers out there, and then I have class today. I’ll wait until I get home this afternoon.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, rolling up a joint right on the stainless countertop. “By the way, we’re running low on AK-47 at the dispensary. We need to stock up on everything for the winter rush coming. Two weeks until Thanksgiving, and then all hell breaks loose.”

“I know. We’ll be ready,” I assure him. “But first, I have breakfast to cook.”

Pivoting on my heel, I turn to leave the kitchen, grateful no one else has arrived yet when I reenter the dining room. Striding with a false confidence across the floor, I approach Crew and his family, still trying to pretend he has no effect on me whatsoever.

“What are you guys hungry for this morning?” I ask sunnily.

Crew peers up at me and asks, “Is there a menu, or do we just make something up?”

I refuse to make eye contact with him, needing to keep my wits about me when I’m around him, because I don’t have time to deal with gooey insides and an out-of-control heart today. I’ve got shit to do. “I can pretty much whip up any breakfast food you think of. Omelets, pancakes, French toast…whatever you want.”

“Ooh, French toast! I haven’t had that in years.” Caleb’s eyes light up with delight, but Mary is quick to shoot down his excitement.

“Don’t be silly; you know you can’t eat that. How about a meat-lovers omelet with a glass of iced water?” she admonishes gently, lifting her eyebrows in a way that warns him not to argue.

Last night, I noticed her whisper something to him right before he was going to spoon some new potato casserole on his plate, which caused him to look very much like he does now—disappointed and a tad bit resentful—but I didn’t think much about it until now.

Straight away, I assume it’s a health concern preventing him from eating certain foods, because it’s definitely not a weight issue. If anything, he needs to add some weight to his scrawny frame. But I don’t ask or say anything; I simply wait for him to confirm that’s what he wants to eat.

“I’ll have an omelet with whatever meats you have, no cheese,” he mutters begrudgingly, “and a water to drink.”

I nod my head in his direction. “No problem. I promise it’ll be good.”

“Give me the same thing,” Crew states tersely, returning his gaze outside the window, “but I’d like a coffee to drink.”

“And for you, Mary?”

“Two eggs, over easy, with a side of bacon and wheat toast, please.” Her strained smile matches the sudden downshift in mood between the three of them. “And I’ll take a coffee as well.”

I want nothing more than to escape to the sanctuary of the kitchen. My dislike for quarrels or awkward tension, even when it doesn’t involve me, makes my belly ache.

“Got it. I’ll bring your drinks right out, and then I’ll get started on your food.”

Not long after I get busy at the stovetop, my mom returns from driving my younger siblings to school and takes over the front of the house as she typically does. Relieved for the assistance, I’m able to focus all of my attention on preparing breakfast for the guests as they steadily begin to arrive, instead of worrying about what could be wrong with Caleb.

Once the final pancake has been flipped and the last slice of bacon fried, I clean up the mess I’ve made and store the food away before exiting the kitchen. Unfortunately, the second I step out into the main lobby, I see Crew and Caleb over at the internet station, scrolling through what appears to be local apartment listings.

I know I should just keep walking straight out the front door and across the lawn to my house, but curiosity, along with a little bit of something else I can’t quite put my finger on, gets the best of me. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m standing behind the stools they’re perched on, peering over their shoulders and confirming my original suspicion.

Then, not thinking before opening my mouth, which I’ve been known to do a time or two, I blurt out, “You guys liked my omelets so much you decided to move here?”

Caleb’s face lights up when he sees me lingering behind them. “We were moving here before we knew about your kick-ass omelets, but maybe you can help us out with some of these places. You’ve lived here a long time, right?”

I nod, wondering what I just got myself involved in, but I’m even more alarmed at my body’s response as I process they’re really moving here, not just visiting. Warm face, pounding heart, sweaty palms, acrobatic stomach—yeah, that shouldn’t be happening.

“We’ve been in Breck for about eight years now. Where are you looking at?” My eyes search the screen while I try desperately to regain control of whatever is happening inside me.

“Can you tell us what parts of town we want to stay away from, or really good places you know of? We’re supposed to look at some places this afternoon when Mom gets back from her interview, but if you can help us narrow them down, that’d be awesome,” he replies gleefully.

Crew still hasn’t turned around as he continues to scroll through the multiple apartment listings on the search results page. Either he’s really focused on what he’s doing, or he’s purposely not acknowledging my presence. I’m not sure why this bothers me, but it does. I haven’t been anything but friendly to him. Shit, I even cooked him breakfast this morning, despite the fact I had no choice in the matter¸ seeing as though it’s my job.

“It looks like your brother has a handle on it,” I clip, glancing down at the notebook page in front of them filled with scribbled words and numbers. “And the great thing about this area is there aren’t any bad spots; there’s nice and really nice. Can’t go wrong.”

Caleb’s eyes bounce back and forth between the computer screen, my face, and Crew. He obviously wants to say something else, but he seems hesitant, though I’m not sure of what. Now, my interest is piqued.

“Do you know where you want to go to school or where Mary’s gonna work? Maybe you can start your search with places close to those spots, and then move outward from there?” I suggest, my curiosity fueling the questions.

“Crew’s homeschooling me this year, at least until we can get situated and everything under control,” Caleb announces proudly. “And don’t think he goes easy on me, ‘cause he can be a real dick, especially when it comes to math. You’d think the smart bastard came up with the quadratic formula his damn self.”

This comment finally elicits a response from Crew, who chuckles lightly and tears his stare from the computer, looking over his shoulder at the two of us. “If you don’t stop talking so I can concentrate, I’m gonna make you do proofs while we’re on this trip.” His words are a threat, but the accompanying teasing tone and good-natured expression are the opposite, allowing me to relax a little. Perhaps it wasn’t my company making him uptight.