Free Confessions in the Dark by Jeanette Grey Page B

implements he’d laid out. “It just seems like something that would be useful to know how to do. For Max, mostly. And. You know.”
    “I don’t.”
    “It’s a nice thing to be able to do. Bring a tray of something with you when you go to someone’s house. Gifts.” Her voice quirked upward, a strange pitch to that word.
    He looked at her askance. “Gifts for whom?”
    “Anyone.” She dipped the measuring cup into the flour, then paused. “Okay, promise you won’t judge me?”
    “I make no such promises.”
    She bit her lip as if trying to hold it in. But then she told him anyway. “Sometimes I go to the bakery down the street and buy cookies or brownies or whatever. Then I put them in Tupperware and pass them off as homemade.”
    “Scandalous.”
    “I know, right? Don’t tell. There are just so many domestic types where I work, and among the parents.” Her expression soured. “I bet the moms at the private schools are even worse.”
    Ah. So that’s what this is about. “The ones at Upton?”
    The school where she was so intent on sending her nephew next year.
    Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. “Max doesn’t have all the advantages of some of the kids there. I’ll even the score however I can. Baked goods for the secretaries.” She glanced at him. “Private tutors. Whatever.”
    “Of course.” A question formed on his lips. It was terribly uncouth. Nosy and awful. But she herself had brought it up in the first place. “Can I ask...”
    She eyed him warily. But she didn’t say no.
    He worked his jaw, gulping. Best to be direct. “Max’s mother.”
    Sighing, she placed her hands on the counter. Left the scoop in the flour and dropped her gaze. “My sister. Penny. She’s...not in the picture right now.”
    Alive, then, at least. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
    “No, it’s okay. Just not easy to talk about, you know?”
    Cole could only imagine.
    Nothing brought out a woman’s emotions like a child. Helen’s face flashed hot across his vision, eyes red, cheeks flushed and damp, and if he could just...If he’d only handled it better.
    If he’d only been a different man entirely.
    The silence that settled over them pressed on his lungs, an awkwardness that made his fingers twitch. Serena’s, too, it seemed. After a moment, she dug back into the bag of flour, fumbling with the measuring cup before hauling it out, soft white powder overflowing as she steered it toward the mixing bowl.
    He reached out before he could think about it too hard.
    Her wrist was so small in his grasp, the bones so delicate. Her skin was warm and soft.
    She darted her gaze around to meet his, mouth twisting down.
    With a soft grunt of an exhalation, he let her go. Clearing his throat, he tipped his head toward the kitchen scale he’d placed beside the mixer. “You have to weigh it. Or at the very least level it.”
    “Really?”
    “Truly.” He pointed to the mass in grams the recipe specified.
    “Huh.”
    Together, they got the flour measured out. As she dithered around, removing a couple of extra grams, she shifted her weight, chewing at the inside of her lip.
    “She was just so perfect,” she said, seemingly out of nowhere.
    It took him a moment to catch up. “Your sister.”
    Serena nodded. “She was two years ahead of me, and all the teachers loved her. Straight As, awesome at sports, the whole package. Except...” She hesitated, lines appearing between her brows. “It started when she was a teenager, I guess. She had these times when you couldn’t talk to her, could hardly even get her out of bed.”
    “Oh.”
    “I mean, looking back on it now, it’s so obvious she was depressed, but at the time—it’s not like teenagers are never moody, you know? And she was so resistant to the idea that she needed help. We thought we got it under control before she went off to college, but...”
    She trailed off, and Cole clenched his hands against some broken, forgotten instinct that had him