We follow him back to the sofa room. “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the sofa, where Snowball is curled on top of his pillow.
He scoops her up. "What did I tell you about my pillow? I’ll get your bed." He turns to us. "Be right back."
Harper takes a seat on the sofa and gestures us over. Jenna and Audrey sit on either side of her, and I perch on the sofa arm on the opposite side from the pillow and blanket. I don’t want to touch his sleeping things. Too personal.
Garrett wanders around the room, poking at the ceiling and inspecting the windows. Wyatt returns and sets a pink and white paw-print doggie bed in front of the fireplace. Then he sets Snowball in it, chucks her under the chin, and heads over to Garrett. Snowball curls up and resumes her nap.
“I can see the potential,” Harper says to us. Wyatt and Garrett are across the room, deep into renovation talk.
“It’s going to be beautiful,” Audrey says.
“I can’t wait to see it when it’s done,” Jenna says.
“I don’t know why he comes into my restaurant so much,” I say. “He has a gourmet kitchen right here. Did you see the stove has six burners?”
Jenna laughs. “Gee, I can’t imagine why he goes to your restaurant so much.”
My friends titter. He has a girlfriend!
“He must be a terrible cook,” I say. “Now that his girlfriend’s in town, I haven’t seen him much. Maybe she’s cooking.”
And then she walks into the room, holding a laptop to her chest. She’s early twenties with dark brown hair that falls in a glossy wave to her shoulders, big brown eyes, delicate cheekbones, a cute doll-like mouth that’s sort of plump and pursed. She’s dressed casually in a pale pink tunic over black leggings with pink fuzzy socks.
She smiles at us. “Hi, everyone. I’m Kayla."
We all say hello. I watch as she hands over the laptop to Wyatt.
"Did you enjoy your chick flick?" he asks, tucking it under one arm.
She smiles. "Yes. I cried at the end."
"Of course you did." He looks at her feet. "Go put on shoes. I don’t want you stepping on a loose nail or getting a splinter."
She obediently turns and walks out of the room, presumably for her shoes. Wow. I certainly wouldn’t tolerate my guy ordering me around like that.
He flips open the laptop lid and walks over to the entrance of the room, yelling toward the ceiling. “And bring the charging cord, please!”
Well, at least he added a please at the end. Reminds me of my older brother Drew barking out orders military style.
“Wyatt, you ever been in the military?” I ask.
He turns. “No. Why?”
Because you order your girlfriend around. “No reason.”
He walks over to me, a small smirk on his gorgeous face. “Come on, Cindy, tell me why you asked. Do I sound like a drill sergeant?”
The room goes silent. I can feel my friends’ stares, probably anticipating I’m going to fight with him. No, I can be civil despite the smirk I’m desperate to smack off his face. And the fact that he purposely called me Cindy just to irk me.
“Actually, yes,” I say evenly. “You just ordered your girlfriend to put on shoes.”
He makes a face, looking at me like I have two heads. “Gross. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my baby sister.”
My pulse shoots up. He’s single.
“What made you think she was my girlfriend?” he asks.
“I saw you with your arm around her at my restaurant.” I glance around for confirmation, but my friends look like they’re just enjoying the show. Should I pass out the popcorn?
He looks to the ceiling and blows out a breath before leveling an affronted look on me. “I had my arm around her because she was about to have a public meltdown. Some things are private, Sydney.”
He said my name. No Cindy to irk me. And he’s a protective big brother. I respect that.
I was lucky to have two awesome big brothers looking out for me when I was a kid. How else would I have made it through my teen years after Mom died? Drew and Adam taught me everything I needed to know, which boils down to be proud to be a Robinson and stand your ground. They expected me to be strong and speak my mind, even when riddled with teenaged insecurities. And I did, even though I sometimes wanted to hide. They set a good example too.
“That’s why you’re sleeping on the sofa,” I say quietly, thinking of the sacrifice he made for his younger sister. She must have his room.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, she just needs a break.”
I want to ask why, but it seems too nosy to ask.
Then he shocks me, sharing more about his sister all on his own. “Right now she’s in a vulnerable state.” His jaw tightens, and he glances behind him, checking if she’s there. He turns back to me. “She’s heartbroken, and when I finally get a name out of her, I’m going to make that guy’s life a living hell.”
My lips part in surprise. Taking his sister in, kicking ass on her behalf. He’s kind.
I sock him on the shoulder. “You’re a good big brother.”
“Why do you sound so surprised? And ow.” He rubs his shoulder.
I shrug.
He shakes his head and looks over at Snowball. He has a little white dog named Snowball. How adorable is that?
“I think it’s great,” I offer.
He looks back at me, one corner of his mouth turning up.
I find myself smiling. Then I realize everyone is looking at us and smiling. I drop the smile. The last thing I need is to hear all about how I have hearts in my eyes for Wyatt Winters on the drive home.
I don’t.
But I may have misjudged him.
7
Mondays are my day off from The Horseman Inn. It’s afternoon when I finally catch up on paperwork and move money around to keep our suppliers happy and staff paid.
My phone blares with a severe weather alert that reminds me we’re expecting a major snowstorm, nine to twelve inches of snowfall with gusting winds. Crap. I hope we don’t lose power. It happens regularly around here when downed trees take out wires, and that means I have to close the restaurant until the power is restored, which can take days. I have a backup generator that keeps the refrigerator and freezers going, but it’s not powerful enough for all the cooking and other essentials needed to stay open. Besides, most people won’t venture out until the roads are cleared of trees and downed wires. I’d better make a run to the grocery store for some essentials.
It’s just a short walk to the small grocery in town, so I put on my black down coat, gray knit cap, and snow boots. When I get there, the store isn’t crowded. Most people stocked up this weekend, but I was working then.
The shopkeeper, Nicholas, looks the same as always—like Santa. He’s an older man with white hair, a long beard, and a potbelly. And he’s got the name, like St. Nicholas. He plays Santa at the annual holiday pancake breakfast. When I was a kid, I was in awe that I could see Santa year-round, though he explained he was just Santa’s helper.
“Hi, Nicholas,” I say.
“Hello, Sydney. I’m shutting down in half an hour, so you made it just in time. Have to get home before the storm.”