Morning After

I woke up with puffy eyes and a splitting headache. Yesterday's realization was still fresh—these feelings for James weren't fading. Actually, seeing him drunk and vulnerable last night, with another woman's lipstick stain on his collar, only made them stronger.

What was I becoming?

The house was strangely quiet as I walked downstairs barefoot. Our new kitchen still felt more like a display than somewhere we lived.

I found myself missing our old, cramped kitchen where James and I would bump into each other while making pancakes on Sundays.

I gathered eggs, bacon, and coffee—the things James always needed after drinking too much. It was my peace offering, though I wasn't sure why I should be the one making up. He missed his own birthday dinner. He came home with lipstick on his collar.

And he was making me feel things I shouldn't.

"Morning, princess."

His voice startled me, and I almost dropped the coffee pot. James was standing in the doorway, fresh from the shower, in a simple white t-shirt and jeans that somehow looked expensive on him.

The nickname he'd been calling me since I was eight suddenly felt different now.

I turned away, focusing hard on measuring coffee.

"Anna, come on. I said I'm sorry about last night."

I stayed quiet, not facing him. If I looked at him now, he might see everything I was trying to hide.

"The silent treatment? Really?" He sighed. "I know I messed up. The clients wanted to celebrate closing the Henderson deal, and things got out of hand."

"Things?" I finally turned around. "You mean the drinking you promised to quit after your doctor specifically warned you about your liver? Or the lipstick on your collar from whatever client was 'celebrating' with you?"

His eyes widened slightly. He hadn't realized I'd noticed.

"That was nothing. Melissa got a little... friendly after too much champagne."

Melissa. The name rang in head. I imagined some beautiful executive in a tight dress, leaning against James, marking him as hers.

"Good morning!" Daisy chirped as she bounced into the kitchen. She stopped, looking between us. "Oh shit. Bad timing?"

James ran a hand through his hair—that gesture that always made my stomach flutter. "Morning, Daisy. Didn't know you were still here. Your friend is somehow mad at me." He tried to sound normal but failed.

"Gee, I wonder why," I muttered, cracking eggs into a bowl with more force than necessary.

Daisy glanced between us, looking thoughtful. She'd been my best friend since high school—she could tell when something was off.

"Well, this is awkward," she said, sitting on a barstool. "What did you do, Mr. Reynolds?"

"James," he corrected automatically. "And apparently everything. Missed dinner, had a drink—"

"Several drinks," I cut in.

"—and committed the terrible sin of working late on my birthday." He checked his watch. "Speaking of which, I need to go. Important investor meeting."

My chest tightened. He was leaving? Just like that?

"You haven't eaten," I said, hating how I sounded concerned.

Something softened in his eyes. "I'll get something on the way. Rain check?"

I nodded stiffly, turning back to the stove to hide my expression.

"We'll talk later, okay?" He paused, then did something unexpected—he briefly touched my shoulder. The contact sent a jolt through my body, and I tensed up. If he noticed, he didn't show it. "Thanks for the gift, by the way. The watch is perfect."

Then he was gone, his expensive car starting up in the driveway moments later.

Daisy waited until we heard the gates close. "Okay, spill. What was that all about?"

"What was what?" I focused on scrambling eggs I no longer wanted.

"That tension! I could barely breathe in here." She leaned forward. "Anna, you looked at him like he'd committed murder when he touched your shoulder."

I turned off the stove, suddenly feeling sick. "He came home drunk last night. With lipstick on his collar."

"So? He's single, rich, and—don't hate me for saying this—attractive for his age. Why do you care so much?"

The question hung in the air. Why did I care? What right did I have to feel this... jealousy?

"He promised he'd stop drinking," I said instead. "After he was hospitalized last year. The doctor said his liver can't handle it."

Daisy's expression softened. "You're worried about him."

"Of course I am. He's..." What? My stepfather? The only parent I had left? The man I was having inappropriate feelings for?

"He's family," I finished weakly.

Daisy studied me for a long moment. "Anna, can I ask you something weird?"

My heart stopped. Could she tell? Was I that obvious?

Before she could continue, my phone rang. I grabbed it, grateful for the interruption until I saw the screen.

"Who's calling?" Daisy asked, noticing my expression.

I stared at the name on the display, a name I hadn't seen in fifteen years.

"Vanessa," I whispered. "My mother."