Adam POV
I didn't want to be here.
Poor sleep didn't help. I was here because of her. Because of Mila.
The Kanes have been family friends for years. More than that. And even if I want distance — and, in a way, my brother does too — we can't. Not because of her.
I know Cameron always feels something when he walks into this house, that so much of Kate is still here. Mila's mother. At least Melissa is different from her sister, but there are traces. Things that remind you of Kate. If I notice them, I can only imagine what it's like for him. But the Kanes are also Mila's family, and that makes them part of ours.
Our parents aren't here. Not because they didn't want to be, but because Cameron and I gave them a cruise as a present for forty-five years of marriage and retirement. Maybe a month is a long time, but it'll stop in lots of cities and they'll see the world like never before. They'll be back next month, and then this lunch will have them again. Until then we keep the tradition: at least once a month I close the restaurant on Sunday and we have a family lunch.
"Kick it, uncle!" I heard Mila shout.
I chased the ball and kicked it back to her. Neither Cameron nor I are huge football fans, but it was better than being cooped up in a room full of dolls before lunch. I offered to help in the kitchen, but Margaret refused outright — she said she didn't want my "bad temper" bossing her kitchen. It's stronger than me. And, well… she isn't exactly a Michelin chef, but the food isn't bad. Maybe if…
Mila's laughter filled the garden and pulled me out of my head as Cameron tried to take the ball from her—unsuccessfully. She was good at physical games. Maybe we'd turned her into a tomboy, but she was happy that way. She could always count on Aunt Melissa to compensate with dresses and shopping sprees.
She lights up my brother's life. She brightens mine too. Innocent. Happy. Real. Genuine.
And against my will, I found myself thinking of her again. Jordan.
It has nothing to do with Mila, but still… there are moments I look at her like that. When she's focused on cooking and a smile slips out without her realizing. When she closes her eyes for a second while tasting something, as if the flavor is telling her a story. Or when she chops vegetables, unconsciously biting her lip to avoid fumbling. Even the way she blushes — irritating, constant — has a truth that's hard to explain.
She's genuine. Effortless, without pose. She doesn't fake it. She can't — she's too clumsy; everything comes naturally.
So why the hell am I thinking about her again? Wasn't turning over, half the night, imagining how her dinner with Lorenzo went enough? Why did they go to dinner together? Don't they know my rules? And if they start dating? The image alone makes me queasy. Irritated.
I shook my head, trying to erase the scene. Distractions cause mistakes. That's the problem. That's why I'm irritated and frustrated. Just that. But worse than mistakes are the fights that inevitably follow.
It might not go wrong. No. It always does. Few couples manage to work together twenty-four-seven. Okay… my parents were one of those couples. But their love was rare.
Something I thought I'd found until I was betrayed. Something my brother found until life cruelly took it away. But he has Mila.
And I… I need to focus on something else. Stop thinking about my intern. Maybe the friend Melissa said she'd bring to lunch would be interesting. Nothing serious. Just someone to warm my sheets for a night or two. I'm not a playboy. I mean… damn, maybe a little. I changed. Confidence died with betrayal.
"Melissa's arriving. Come inside and wash your hands!" Margaret called from the porch. "You were lucky not to get soaked. I swear the sprinkler system went rogue!"
Cameron grabbed the ball and tossed it to me before running after Mila, who fled shrieking with laughter. That's when we saw the car pulling up.
"Aunt Mel!" Mila's voice brimmed with joy. As the car stopped and Melissa climbed out, the little girl ran straight into her arms.
For a moment I was stuck in that picture, almost forgetting everything. Until I heard a voice.
"Aunt?"
Jordan.
The mystery friend Melissa had promised to bring wasn't any friend. It was her. My intern.
A rush of things I refused to name hit me. Irritation was simpler. Irritation was safer. Because, of course, she hadn't followed my rules. Because, of course, her dinner with Lorenzo wouldn't leave my head.
She walked slowly beside Melissa and Mila, who peppered her with questions non-stop. "What's your name? Are you Auntie's friend? Do you work with her and Uncle Adam? Can you cook too? How old are you? Do you have children?"
Jordan answered, trying to keep up with the barrage and smiling. I didn't catch everything they said, but I saw that the little girl was already enchanted. Especially when Jordan told her she could make her favorite dessert. Another fan for the disaster collector.
Even from a distance I noticed the awkward way she moved: hair falling into her face, eyes shining with Mila's attention, that smile that felt like a disarming weapon.
I didn't ask for this. I don't want this.
At that moment I heard the dry snap, followed by a high-pressure hiss. Jets of water erupted out of nowhere, arcing through the air and soaking everything — grass, skin, clothes, hair. The sprinkler system had decided to come to life, and it chose the worst possible instant.
"Run!" Melissa screamed, laughing as she grabbed her niece's hand. Mila shrieked too, but with pure joy, laughing as if this was the best game ever. Cameron, still clutching the ball, didn't hesitate to join the scramble.
We all bolted for the porch, the only shelter from the artificial downpour. The open lawn, perfect for a game of ball, suddenly felt like a battlefield dominated by sprays of water.
The sodden grass made footing treacherous. Each step was a fight against slipping. I took a breath and launched forward, cold drops stinging my face as my shirt soaked through.
"Oh my God!" Margaret's voice echoed from the doorway, amused and worried at once. "I told you! Quick… run, get inside!"
Cameron had already reached the porch, Mila right behind him, hopping the steps like part of the fun. Melissa was close on their heels, Jordan at her side.
And then our eyes met.
Jordan.
She ran awkwardly, dodging jets however she could, hair plastered to her face, laughing regardless. For a second her eyes locked onto mine, and I onto hers. A second too long — long enough to almost make me forget the cold water soaking my clothes.
And then it happened.
She tripped. Her body pitched forward out of control, arms flailing as if to grab empty air.
Shit.
Instinct moved faster than thought. I lunged forward, arm outstretched, determined to catch her before she fell.