mind about the dishes, Braeden. Amelia cooked and left the kitchen pretty straight. These will go right into the dishwasher.”
Max made car noises underneath the table.
Honey pulled out a chair. “Then Max and I have an appointment with the bathtub.”
Max responded by using her foot as a ramp for his Matchbox car.
“What do you say?” Seth settled into a cane-bottomed chair next to a piecrust table where a game of checkers awaited.
Braeden glanced between Max and Honey.
“Go ahead,” she encouraged, starting toward the kitchen. “But proceed at your own risk. This so-called washed-up waterman is actually known locally as a checkers shark.”
Braeden eased into the chair opposite Seth. Zooming noises continued to emanate from the dining room.
Rubbing his hands together, Seth adjusted the pieces. “You take the red ones. I’ll be black.” The older man chuckled. “Best way to take the measure of a man. Squaring off in a game of skill and cunning.”
Braeden raised his eyebrow a notch. “Skill and cunning?”
“Sharpens the mind, young man. Got to keep on my toes with all these females around.” Seth craned his head toward the dining room. “Ain’t that right, Max, my boy?”
Loud screeches were his only answer.
Three shutout games later, Braeden threw his hands up in surrender. He darted a surreptitious look at the clock on the mantel. Amelia, still a no-show. Max’s bath time—amid much splashing and squawking cries for the XPO to rescue him—had come and gone.
Honey emerged, sopping wet, at the top of the stairs. She gripped pajama-clad Max’s shoulder. “I’ve about had it up to here—” she made a swiping motion with her hand “—with Amelia punishing you and me for not telling her about—oh.” Her mouth snapped shut at the sight of Braeden.
“I thought you’d abandoned ship by now.” Honey tugged at Max. “Considering the unearthly howls coming from this one. He won’t go to bed. Every night this week... I can’t fight this or him again, Dad.”
Seth gnashed his teeth. “Max...”
The boy’s lower lip wobbled. “Mimi always reads me a story.”
Braeden noticed the hardcover picture book tucked under Max’s arm.
Honey let out a gust of air. “Mimi’s not here right now, Max.” She threw up her hands. “And just look at me. Just look at the mess you’ve made of me—not to mention the bathroom.”
Braeden moved out of his chair. “I’ll read Max the story. Would that be okay?” He edged toward the sofa. “Probably not be as good as Mimi, but I’ll give it my best shot.”
Seth shook his head. “Not your responsibility, Braeden, though I appreciate the offer.”
“It’s me Amelia is avoiding.” Braeden shrugged. “Besides, it’ll be fun hanging out with Max before he goes to bed.” He cocked his head at the boy on the stairs. “You will go to bed after we read the story, won’t you?”
Honey teetered on the step. He and Seth both held their breath. Max nodded. Everyone else exhaled in relief.
Seth grasped the armrests and heaved himself to his feet. “And I’m going to have a little talk with another family member of mine, one Amelia Anne Duer.”
Honey paused at the landing. “She’s shy around people she doesn’t know, Dad. Don’t be too hard on her.”
Seth tucked in his shirt. “She’s stubborn is what she is.”
Honey sniffed. “Apples don’t fall far from the tree.”
Seth gave his other daughter a crooked smile. “Same could be said for you, too, baby girl.”
With a cautious look, Max ventured off the stairs as Seth made for the door and his aunt sailed upstairs. Using only the tips of his fingers, Max extended the book to Braeden. And Braeden, for the first time, began to wonder what he’d gotten himself into. An only child, he’d never been good with kids.
Or maybe he’d simply never had the opportunity to learn.
“So what do we have here?” Braeden opened the storybook and smiled. “One of my favorites when I was a boy.”
He was more than a little relieved to realize he knew the story. And that the boy’s literary appetites didn’t run to something the length of War and Peace. Although if he stalled long enough, perhaps Amelia would come back into the house.
Braeden patted the seat cushion beside him. “Hop on up and we’ll begin.”
Sticking his hand into the pocket of his pj’s, Max retrieved his miniature muscle car. “Mimi makes noises when she reads.”
“Noises?”
It was a story, Braeden recollected, about a plucky little sailboat exploring the deep blue sea.
Max nodded and scrambled beside Braeden. The little boy flipped past the title and copyright page. “It starts with the wind in the sails. Mimi makes wind sounds like this.”
He demonstrated by sucking in his cheeks and blowing out small puffs of air. Max recited the first five lines from memory. The clean, just-bathed scent of the little boy reminded Braeden of the boy he’d once been. And of the parents who once read this same story to him.
Braeden let go of the book. “Sounds as though you don’t need me to read it to you. You know it by heart.”
All motion ceased. Max’s eyes shot up to Braeden’s. A pucker creased the ridge between his eyes. “I guess so...” His voice faded and Max looked down at the tiny car he clutched in his hand.
“But...” Braeden swallowed against the unexpected feeling. “Since it’s been a long time since I read the story, maybe you and I—we—could read it together. You could coach me on the parts I’ve forgotten or if I don’t do the sounds like Mimi.”
“Really?” Max blinked at him.
“How about it?”
Max snuggled closer, and before long Braeden found himself as caught up in the story of the brave little sailboat as Max. They laughed together at the funny seagull parts. They groaned as the sailboat’s timbers shivered in the midst of a typhoon and high waves.
By the time they reached the climax where the boat sighted a distant, welcoming shore, Max had curled into Braeden’s lap.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив
