“Come on, East,” Wylla Mae whines, trying to jerk the heavy door open.
Roane shoots me a look that says, ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
**
“This is your house?” Wylla Mae spins around in the living room of my A-frame home.
“Yeah.”
“Did you build it yourself?” She plops her pink backpack down on the black leather couch.
“No.”
“Did you buy it?”
“No.”
Her eyes go big. “Did you steal it?”
“What? No. You can’t steal a house.”
Her brows knit together. “Then how did you get it?”
“It belonged to my father.”
“Did he build it?”
“No. I don’t know. You ask a lot of questions.”
“Are you married? You don’t look married. I don’t see any stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” I look around my cabin wondering what she was expecting.
“You know. Girl stuff. Pretty pillows. Flowers. Candles that smell good.”
“Maybe I don’t like that stuff.”
“My mom likes girly stuff. When she feels happy, she lights candles and sprays stuff on the furniture to make it smell good. I bet she’d make this place look better.” She picks up a magazine and scrunches her nose as she gapes at the cover. “Ew.” She drops it as quickly as she found it and my jaw ticks.
Shit. A Playboy. But in my defense, I wasn’t expecting to be on brat duty.
“Stop being so damn nosy and put your medicine in the fridge.”
“Do you have a Tv?” her gaze darts around the room.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I like to read.”
“Read?”
“Yeah. Books Maybe you need to try it.” I sigh and grab the bottle of pink liquid from her backpack.
“I don’t see anything besides your nudie books.”
“Nudie books?” I chuckle.