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Corinne extracts the white box from her tote bag. “The croissants are light and buttery. We’ll brew up some coffee.”
I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs; my reaction is automatic. “Coffee…? How? All I have in my bungalow is a microwave.”
“Oh, Hazel, you should see this place,” Brett calls to me from way across the living room.
He steps into an alcove that I can’t quite see, but his voice booms out. “We’ve got the two-bedroom, two-bath, kitchen-included unit. When you’ve got a brother like Jackie Boy, you get all the perks.”
My nose sniffs the air. Based on the rustling sounds I hear and the scent of dark roast now filling the room, I can guess he’s loading grinds into a filter.
Even though I’d love a real cup of coffee and my stomach twists with yearning for a buttery croissant, I make myself shake my head. “I should get going. I just came to swap out laptops.”
The feel of a small hand wrapping around mine surprises me at first. I look down and see Ophelia gazing up at me like I’m some movie star. “Uncle Jack said you’re pretty and nice.”
“Ophelia, honey,” Corinne says with a quick laugh. She lowers her voice, and as she passes us, she leans in. “He did say that. But that might have been for only us Morgans to know.”
“Well, she is pretty and nice,” Ophelia tells her mom.
I squeeze her hand. “Thanks. I like your bathing suit.” I can see now that the suit has a sea turtle on it. “Pretty cool.”
She looks down proudly. “We got it at the gift shop. Come on.” She leads me toward the table.
Beyond digging my heels in, there’s no way to get away.
The door to the outside gets farther and farther away. Ophelia pulls a chair out for me and pats the cushion. Once I sit, she pulls a chair up close to mine.
The second, older girl, perches in the chair on my other side. She seems to have about five years on her sister and is a foot taller. Her hair is in similar braids, and her smile is just as warm.
Corinne and Brett are now in the galley-sized kitchen, whispering together happily as Corinne sets pastries on a plate.
When Brett looks over his shoulder at me, I can guess what he’s discussing with his wife—me, and my presence in their bungalow. Me, and my dealings with his little brother.
Corinne nods at something he’s saying. Then she steals a look at me, too.
“Uncle Jack has been singing a lot,” Ophelia whispers to me matter-of-factly. “He sometimes sings at home, but not this much.”
She eyes me with big, brown eyes that contain way more emotion than I ever guessed a nine-year-old could muster. “We woke up early to go to the beach because that’s when the waves are the best. Uncle Jack dove head-first into the waves, and then he was singing while we walked on the beach, looking for sharks’ teeth.”
“How long have you all been up, anyway?”
Jasmine holds up her wristwatch. “We had to stay in bed until five o’clock, but me and Lia were up before that. Mommy says it’s because time works different here, and traveling with kids is a challenge.”
“A challenge…” I nod, thinking about my own disrupted sleep patterns.
Then again, my sleepless nights have had more to do with my confusing feelings toward Jack than anything else.
Jasmine’s wide eyes match her sister’s. “Uncle Jack only sings like this when he’s super happy.”
“Is that so?” I can feel my blush creeping back to my cheeks.
Corinne steps out of the kitchen. She places the plate of pastries and donuts on the center of the table, then plops down into a seat.
She tents her hands together and rests her chin on them. She has the same brown eyes as her daughters, and they’re also focused on me.
The three of them look at me like I’m some alien creature who landed in their living quarters.
What do they want from me?
I nervously tuck one leg up onto the chair.
