Coco made her presence known to Cain for the first time, letting out a bark as though backing up her mistress’s assertion.
Cain’s gaze dropped to her bag, horrified. “What is that?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a dog.”
His scowl was skeptical. “In what world, Oz?”
Coco made a whining noise, and Violet frowned at Cain as she pointed at the little Yorkie. “You hurt her feelings.”
“I’m already exhausted by all the sleep I’ll lose tonight over that fact.”
Violet exhaled for patience. “New York manners dictate that you invite me in.”
“Manners everywhere dictate that you shouldn’t break into someone else’s house.”
“Touché and agreed. Perhaps you’re not a lost cause after all. But it’s cold out here, so…” Violet stepped inside, careful not to touch him as she scooted into the foyer.
“Also, isn’t it a bit soon to be calling it your house?” she said. “You’ve been here, what, a week?”
“A week too long,” he grumbled, shutting the front door.
She glanced his way. “You don’t like the place?”
Adam hadn’t done much with the outside of the brownstone, preferring to leave it to its timeless, stately appearance that the Upper East Side legacies liked to call classic but sometimes just translated to old. Inside, however, the man had spared no expense renovating it with modern amenities.
Unlike Edith’s and Violet’s homes, which had been deliberately decorated to preserve the prewar aesthetic, Adam had leaned into the twenty-first century. As far as Violet knew, the hardwood floors were just about the only thing original in the home. Adam had skipped right over contemporary and gone straight to modern.
Adam had spared no cost in letting his interior designer go wild, but for all the expense, Violet had always disliked the place. Everything from the white giraffe hat rack to the neon-orange modular sofa gave her an overall sense of discomfort.
The cool, ultra-mod vibe had fit Adam’s slick personality and modern playboy persona perfectly, but Violet couldn’t help but notice how out of place his son seemed in the environment. Very bull in china shop.
Cain followed her into the kitchen, frown firmly in place as he confirmed her observations. “Hell no, I don’t like the place.”
Violet looked around for coffee, but the counters were mostly bare, save for a pizza box.
“You don’t drink coffee?” she asked, setting her bag on the floor so that Coco had the option to hop out and explore if she wanted.
He leaned on the counter, either not noticing or not caring that he was still only half dressed. “I do. But there’s no coffeepot.”
Violet opened the cupboard to the right of the sink. As she’d hoped, Adam’s French press was still there, and there was even a bag of unopened coffee beans. The coffee was a bit past its prime, certainly, but at least it was caffeine; Violet was feeling increasingly weary and they’d barely gotten started.
She set about making the coffee, sensing Cain’s gaze tracking her every movement.
“Come here often, do ya?” Cain asked sarcastically as Violet dumped beans into the grinder she found in one of the lower cabinets.
She shrugged. “I knew your father well.”
“How well?”
She gave him a wary look out of the corner of her eye as she put the kettle on to heat the water. “He was a family friend.”
“Friend, as in…” He waggled his eyebrows, deliberately crude.
Violet didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black.” He nodded at the French press. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a French press. A type of coffeepot.”
“Looks like a pain in the ass,” he said, straightening and lifting his arms over his head to stretch.
“Sorry it’s not instant,” she said just a little snidely.
He surprised her by laughing, a low rumble. “Damn, you really are a snob.”
“I’m not,” she said automatically.
His snort said it all.
“So,” she said as she set a timer for four minutes and turned to face him. “Since we’re stuck with each other, we might as well get to know the basics. Tell me about Cain Stone.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, one eye on her purse as Coco hopped out of the bag and began sniffing the hardwood floor in earnest. Cain’s attention came back to Violet. “You barge into my house at the crack of dawn, and you think we’re going to make small talk?”
Violet blinked. “The crack of dawn? It’s ten thirty in the morning.”
He shook his head. “Clearly, you’ve never been to N’awlins. This is very much morning.”
“You lived there your whole life?” she asked, jumping at the opening to know him better. To understand him. For Edith’s sake, of course.
“No.”
Before she could press him to elaborate, the unmistakable sound of bare feet on wood steps caught her attention.
She looked at Cain, startled to learn they weren’t alone in the house. He didn’t look the least bit surprised when a short, curvy blonde padded into the kitchen wearing nothing but bedhead and a large T-shirt. Cain’s shirt, Violet was guessing, judging by the way it hit at her upper thigh. Violet was only five five, but that T-shirt would leave her butt hanging out, and not in a sexy way.
Not that she had much opportunity to give it a try. Her and Keith’s relationship hadn’t been physical in ages, and even the couple of times they had slept together, almost out of obligation, she’d never thought to borrow one of his shirts.
Not that he’d offered.
“Hey, darlin’,” Cain said, turning and giving the woman a slow, sleepy grin.
Violet blinked at the blatantly sexual charm. Where had he been hiding that?
The blonde wound her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his arm and gazing up at him, pointedly ignoring Violet, though she did glance at Coco. “Cute dog.”
“Mmm,” Cain said noncommittally before letting himself be drawn into a passionate, rather wet-sounding kiss.
Since they were too wrapped up in each other to pay attention or even remember she was there, Violet wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smacking noises.
The timer went off, and the woman unpeeled her mouth from Cain’s, finally looking over at Violet. Her expression wasn’t quite antagonistic, but the vibe was unmistakable: this one’s mine.
Violet smiled pleasantly. By all means.
“Coffee?” Violet asked the two of them, turning to retrieve mugs from the counter.
“Yup,” the woman said.
Yup, please, Violet mentally amended, the way she had been corrected in childhood until good manners had become as natural to her as breathing.
Violet went to the fridge. As expected, it was empty, save a six-pack of beer and a takeout container. She closed it again. “Black okay?”
The woman made a face. “Gross. Guess it’ll have to be.”
Violet’s eyes caught Cain’s just for a moment. Really? This one?
He merely gazed back at her, betraying nothing.
Violet pulled three mugs out of the cupboard, then realized that the small pot of coffee wasn’t quite enough to fill up three mugs.