SARAH
“Are you three getting off on this?” My brows pinch together, just enough to crease the bridge of my nose.
Ronan chuckles behind me, his fingers twisting the strands of my hair into a tight French plait. Apparently, he used to braid their mother’s hair a lot years ago, and the skill somehow never left his head.
“I did it every week for almost twenty years,” he had said, the pain in his voice barely masked by the proud smile on his face. “You don’t forget things like that.”
Tell that to my brain that can’t keep directions longer than a week. I hardly learn directions and easily forget them. I know for a fact I’ll have a problem heading to the office when I finally resume.
Google maps to the rescue, I guess.
But I digress.
Malachi’s fingers work through my left toes, massa
