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“Good morning, Auntie,” he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Think we need a special occasion to spoil you a little?”
“Well, I can’t remember the last time anybody cooked for me.” Francie looked at her husband. “And this looks delicious.”
“Shall we bring this to the morning room or eat right here?”
“Let’s stay here,” she said, settling into a seat. “As long as we’re going to be cooped up in here for a while, I figured I’d start decorating for Christmas today. I wasn’t going to bother this year, but I thought about it, and Valerie would’ve wanted me to, especially being Breanna’s here.”
“Yeah, she’d have had the house all decked out already.” Sinjin’s gaze seemed to travel somewhere in the past. He smiled, but there was a touch of sadness to it. “I’ll bring everything up after breakfast.”
“Your grandmother sure loved decorating for the holidays,” Francie said, clasping onto her hand. “You can help me if you’d like.”
“I would.” Smiling, Breanna nodded.
Smiling back, Francie cut into her waffles. “Oh, dear, these are wonderful.”
And smirking, Sinjin winked.
Thank you, Arien Brooks—whoever you are.
“Found a recipe on a blog is all.” Breanna shrugged like it was no big deal. “It said using warmed milk and melted butter in the batter makes all the difference.”
“Mm, I’ll have to remember that,” she said, devouring another forkful.
“After you finish helping your aunt, I could use some out in the garage.” Licking the syrup from his thumb, Ted looked over at his nephew. “Have to get the blowers gassed up and ready for the storm.”
“Already done, old man.” Sinjin grinned. “Got the power shovels charging, too.”
“Well, dang it.” Reaching across the island, Ted speared another waffle onto his plate. “Nothing for me to do now ’til it’s time to move some snow.”
“I’ve got something you can do, Mr. Keeler.” Francie elbowed her husband in the ribs.
“Oh, yeah?” He waggled his eyebrows. “And what’s that, Mrs. Keeler?”
“Help me clean this kitchen.”
Sinjin held her hand, taking her down the stairs to the walkout basement. Cut into the slope of the mountain, Breanna looked through a wall of glass to a patio, covered by the first-floor deck above, and the panoramic view beyond it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is.” But the word didn’t accurately describe it. “Have you always lived here?”
“Pretty much. Between here and Sacramento.” His arm around her shoulders, he led her down the hall. “My mom grew up in the village.”
“Francie did too, then.”
Nodding, he opened a door. “Their father—my grandfather—was also an attorney.”
“For the Daltons?”
“Of course.” Snickering, Sinjin began pulling red plastic totes down from a shelf. “Your family and mine go way back.”
So I’ve heard.
“What’s down here?”
“Didn’t my cousin give you the grand tour?” With a roll of his eyes, he waved his hands around the large room filled with row upon row of metal shelving. “Storage mostly.”
“There has to be more here than that. This space is massive.”
