Page 140 of Beneath the Quiet

Maeve nods. “Positive. Katie’s teaching me to make cottage pie, and men aren’t allowed in the kitchen.”

“Technically, it’s my kitchen.” I drum my fingers on the wooden countertop, out of my depth.

“Not tonight, Dad.” Katie grins and flips her long braid over her back.

Maeve turns around and blows at one of her curls that’s flipped down over her eyes.

“If you’re restless, you can always do laundry.”

Did she just…

I make a face.

“Dad hates doing the laundry.”

“Really?” Maeve leans her hip on the counter, and I narrow my eyes at the cheeky grin plastered on her lips.

“Yes,” I grit out. “The fudging socks always disappear in the machine. I swear the wretched thing swallows them whole.”

She raises her eyes at me. “You do know that it’s an inanimate object, Aidan?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

I open my mouth to defend myself again, but I draw a blank. What is there to say?

“Dad leaves his dirty socks everywhere.”

Maeve giggles, but the sound stops abruptly when I don’t deny it. Her face falls.

“Oh, no. Is it true?”

I raise my eyes to the ceiling, quietly asking for my daughter to stop oversharing.

“Thanks so much for that, Katie.”

“You’re welcome, Dad,” she sings.

Cheeky girl.

“Fine, fine. Nobody’s perfect, right?” I raise a hand and make a sweeping motion in front of me. “And that’s apparently one of my weaknesses.”

“You should see him whenever he runs out of socks, Maeve. He’s like a hoover around the house, looking everywhere for them.”

Maeve glances back at me, her eyes dancing with such irresistible light that it’s impossible to stay annoyed with her, and I sigh good-naturedly.

“It sounds funny. I hope I get to see it for myself some time.”

The soft promise in her words sends an arrow straight through my gut.

“I hope so, too,” I murmur.

For a long moment, I get caught in her moss-green eyes, relishing the way they soften towards me. I’m falling harder for her by the minute, unable to resist the pull of her heart that sings to mine. I can’t tear my gaze away from her or the way the glow in her cheeks deepens.

“Why don’t you set the table?”

I nod at Katie, push off my chair and move to the cabinet next to Maeve to find the plates. I can’t resist running my hand down her back in a feather-light touch. She clears her throat and looks down at the potato, and in brisk movements gets back to peeling.

“While I do, why don’t you share with us one of the things you hate to do?” I ask her.