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Jasmine turned towards the door and he quickly averted his gaze, closing the cupboard and opening another. He didn’t want to make it obvious he’d been eavesdropping.
He took one more peek. Jasmine had walked farther down the sand path, her arms crossed defiantly in front of her as Bently shook his head.
“Are you making dinner?” Zoey asked, her little face pressing against the other side of the screen door.
Atlas smiled. “I sure am.”
“When will it be ready? I’m soooo hungry.” She rubbed her belly.
“You just had a big ice cream. How can you be hungry?” Jasmine said, scooping up the little girl from behind before raining kisses over her face.
Zoey giggled, dropping her spade as Jasmine opened the screen door and walked in. Her eyes flicked to his as a blush crept over her cheeks. Then she diverted her attention to Bently with a wave as he disappeared around the side of the house.
“Zoey, this is Mr. Atlas. He’s gonna stay in one of our rooms for a couple weeks,” Jasmine explained as she set her daughter in a seat at the large dining table, a small space away from where he’d been working.
“Hi.” Atlas waved, unsure how he was supposed to respond.
Jasmine’s eyes were glued to him as she pulled a juice box and bag of crackers off the counter and handed them to the little girl.
“Do you need help?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. I got this. But you could make my day and tell me you have a pasta roller?”
Jasmine smiled. “Is that the silver thingy with the turny lever?”
“Well, I’ve never heard a more technical description of the tool, but yes, that sounds about right.” He chuckled.
“My sister-in-law bought me one in the hopes of teaching me to cook. I think I still have it down here.” She opened a low cupboard and reached way back before coming out with an unopened, dusty box. She handed it to him.
“Perfetto.”
She blinked. “Is that Spanish?”
“Italian. My grandfather only spoke to us in his native tongue until we were fluent.” Atlas closed his mouth. Why was he telling her so much about himself?
“So, you’re Italian, then?” she asked, grabbing herself a glass and filling it from the tap.
“Both my parents are Sicilian. What about you?”
She walked over to the table and sat next to her daughter before she answered. He followed her, opening the pasta roller.
“My biological father was Korean, I’m told. My mother was Scottish and European.” Jasmine pushed the juice closer to Zoey, whose mouth was full of orange crackers.
She was told? Was she adopted? “That’s pretty cool.”
She shrugged.
He cut the dough in quarters and began rolling out a sheet of pasta. “So, Bently is the sheriff here in town?” Was he too obvious?
Jasmine nodded.
“Uncle Bently catches the bad guys!” Zoey said.
“He’s your uncle?”
Zoey nodded.
“Bently is my oldest brother.”
