Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(46)

So that was what he was doing wrong.

She didn’t wait for him to answer, she moved into his space, shuffling him out of the way at the same time deftly confiscating the over-filled coffee filter.

“I’ll make the coffee,” she muttered, dumping half the grounds back into the canister. She then reached into the spice drawer, pulled out cinnamon and sprinkled it on the top. She put the filter in the machine, slapped it to and flipped the switch.

Cinnamon.

That was why her coffee was so heavenly.

That and the fact that there wasn’t far too much coffee in the filter.

She took down mugs and he settled in watching her. She settled back to ignoring him.

This made him smile.

“What are you making the kids for breakfast today?” he asked.

She blanched visibly at the mention of food and then swallowed.

“Don’t know,” she muttered to the coffeepot which she was watching with avid but feigned fascination.

He decided to torture her. “A fry up?”

She curled her fingers around the counter and swallowed yet again before whispering, “I don’t think so.”

He bit back his laughter.

Then he called, “Elle,” and watched, with some surprise, as her body grew tight.

She turned only her head to him.

“I’ll make you toast and I’ll make the kids breakfast,” he told her.

“I can cook.”

“Aye, you can, very well. This morning, however, you aren’t.”

She turned her body to him and repeated, “I can cook.”

“Aye, but this morning you aren’t.”

Her shoulders went straight. “I am.”

“You aren’t.”

“I am,” she snapped and then winced at her own intensity.

He grinned, walked the stride it took him to get to her, put his hands to her waist and lifted her. She let out a startled cry and her fingers curled on his shoulders before her ass hit the counter. He placed both of his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, leaned his face to hers and spoke.

“You aren’t. Sit. Stay.”

Her eyes flashed with anger, her mouth opened to speak, he felt another, deeper, desire to kiss her and then her gaze darted over his shoulder.

Her pale face grew paler and her hands shot from his shoulders as if his skin burned.

Prentice straightened, looked over his shoulder and saw Sally and Jason both standing there, both their eyes locked on Prentice and Elle.

How had they missed the children arriving?

Sally looked like Sally, happy and carefree (though silent).

Jason looked astounded.

Prentice moved to Isabella’s side, a comfortable distance away and he held his son’s gaze.

Then he watched as Jason’s lips twitched to the side, his eyes grew bright then they dropped to the floor but Prentice could have sworn he saw a smirk before they did.

“What’s for breakfast, Miss Bella?” Sally asked, skipping into the kitchen.

“Elle’s sitting this one out. I’m making porridge,” Prentice answered, reaching for the bread to make Elle’s toast.

Jason’s head shot up and the smirk was gone. “Elle?”

“Aye,” Prentice replied immediately.

That was who she was no matter who she wanted him to think she was.

Prentice kept his eyes locked on his son and watched as Jason’s gaze slid to Elle and the smirk returned before he went to the fridge to get the milk.

“Can we call her Elle?” Sally asked.

“No,” Prentice answered.

“Can we sit on the counter like Miss Bella’s doing while we eat our porridge?” Sally asked.

“No,” Prentice repeated.

“Can we have chocolate cake instead of porridge?” Sally went on.

“No,” both Prentice and Elle answered.

“But there’s a lot of cake left!” Sally cried. “If we don’t have it for breakfast, we’re never going to eat it all!”

“Sally, stool. Sit. Now,” Prentice ordered.

His daughter pouted and flounced to a stool.

Prentice went back to preparing the toast but his eyes caught on Elle and he saw she was watching Sally with a soft, warm, amused expression on her pale face.

And it hit him she wasn’t drunkenly declaring her love for his children last night. She was honestly doing it.

Prentice, luckily, had no idea the depth of longing of a motherless child who had no ability to have children of their own.

Or, he had no idea until he saw that look on Elle’s face and realized that, within days, she’d fallen in love with his children.

Fucking hell, he thought.

They really needed to talk.

He made the toast, he made porridge, they ate and the kids scrambled up the stairs to get their bags.

Elle hopped off the counter and started clearing the dishes.

“Dougal’s stag night is tonight and the kids –” Prentice started while watching her move through his kitchen.

He didn’t finish.

Her head whipped toward him and she said quickly, “I’ll watch them.”

That warm weight settled in his gut again.

And it felt good again.

He walked close to her, put his hand to her neck and he felt her still under his fingers.