Becca is perched on one of the stools in my kitchen, watching me cook for her. Tonight, I’m making us chicken piccata. She’d wanted to help, but I enjoy being the one to feed her, so the only task I’ve given her is slicing lemons, which she made quick work of.
“Thanks, angel,” I say, grabbing the cutting board and lemons from her.
“Did you mean all that? Everything you said in your truck?”
I give her a quizzical look. “Of course I did.”
She smiles. “I had coffee with Elise, and ...” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey.” I cross the kitchen to stand before her and brush my thumb across her cheek. “It matters to me.”
She licks her lips, toying with a loose string on the hem of her shirt. “She told me to be careful.”
Shit. I should have expected as much. My sister doesn’t ex
