“That counts as sick.” Kit sounded sympathetic.
“I don’t want to leave her by herself too much, just because…I don’t know. She hasn’t been herself. We’re still trying to figure it out. Mom lives with her boyfriend in Portland now, so she’s down there, even though she comes to see us when she can. So, anyway, it’s mostly fallen to me, looking after Skye.” She pulled in a breath and forced a smile at him. “Jeez, sorry. T.M.I.”
He looked thoughtful, brushing the scruff on his cheek with one knuckle. “Nah, believe me, I get it. Do they think it’s seasonal affective disorder, or…”
“Could be. I mean, it’s winter, and it’s only been going on for a few weeks. It’s just…this is so not like her. Winter never bothered her before. Still, she’s getting to the point of finding a serious career, and I think maybe it’s hitting her hard, becoming a grown-up and all that. She’s an artist, so, moody temperament.”
“Oh yeah. We’re practically unstable.” He smiled.
She laughed, abashed. “I forgot you’re one too. Sorry again.”
He shrugged, rolling the remark away with a casual wrinkle of his nose. “Well, then you’ve got your hands full.”
“Yeah.” She sucked up a sip of vanilla shake. “Hoping one of the medications will finally work. And she’s seeing a therapist, but that’s not a lot of use either when she’ll hardly talk. Or maybe when spring approaches she’ll get better. I don’t know.”
“Sounds like you’re the one who knows her best.”
“I suppose. Probably.”
“Then I bet you’ll get her through it. Whatever it is.”
He didn’t say it in a fake encouraging tone, the way too many people did when trying to make Livy believe everything was going to be fine. Even their mother used that tone; she was still in denial. Instead Kit sounded grave but sincere. She lifted her gaze to him. His eyes were a tea-brown with depth and clarity to them, shaded by thick brown eyebrows, the same shade as his facial hair, which in turn was a tint lighter than his hair…
Yep, he was cute, but he was only treating her to milkshakes out of obligation, and he surely wouldn’t be interested in her now that she’d spewed her family mental health problems onto the table. Nor was she in the best place in life to start dating someone.
She averted her eyes to the counter, watching Carol’s back as she moved around and fetched plates. “Thanks. I hope so.” She looked at him with the brightest smile she could manage. “So, what’s Grady going to do around here? Is he looking to become a mechanic?”
Kit smirked. “No way. He only does it because I can pay him some, and there’s not a lot else to do in this town. Really, though, he wants to be a chef.”
“A chef?”
“For real. He’s taken community college classes and worked in restaurants and everything, just not, you know, the serious certification the fancy restaurants in Seattle would want.”
“Does he cook for you, then?”
He nodded, swallowing a sip of shake. “All the time. Oh my God, he makes crazy shit. I never in my life thought I would like kale chips or—what the hell was it last week?—coconut curry soup, that was it. With broccoli in it, I’m serious. But he actually made it good.” Kit’s eyes widened, as if he were still not over the shock.
Livy laughed. “Wow. Those sound awesome. I’ll be happy to take the leftovers if you have any.”
“For sure. Come out to the island and try them sometime.” The low, lazy way he said it, and the way his gaze held hers—suddenly her face grew hot with a blush.
All that un-sexy talk about Skye’s problems, and her own general awkwardness, and he was still hitting on her? The guy was a pro. Or not very particular. Or both.
She took another slurp of shake through the straw. “So how did you get into chainsaw carving?”
He told her about picking up the skill from an old guy who used to live on the island, with whom he used to do side jobs cutting down loose branches or slicing up trees that had fallen on roads. But Kit didn’t like climbing up in the trees like that, so he stuck to making art with the wood and being a mechanic like his late dad instead. Those topics carried them until they’d finished their shakes, plus another ten or fifteen minutes beyond.
Finally, Livy pulled out her phone to check the time, and declared she’d better get back home—though truthfully she was liking it a hell of a lot, sitting here in a bacon-scented diner with steam on the windows, riding a sugar rush and talking with a handsome guy. Imagine that.
Outside, on the weedy gravel between the diner and the sculpture garden, she stuck her hand out to him. “This was fun. Thanks.”
Rather than shake her hand, Kit took it, bent over it, and kissed it. He didn’t make it cheesy; no lingering or smacking. He pulled it off with perfect courtier grace. She felt only a tickle of lips and beard, then he let go and slipped his hands in his jeans pockets, smiling. “I enjoyed it. Stop by again. Or hey, I’ll track you down if Grady makes something awesome to share.”
“You’d better.” She smiled too, and turned toward her car.
CHAPTER SIX
KIT CHEWED ON HIS THOUGHTS ALL AFTERNOON, THROUGH SCHOOLING GRADY ON SPARK PLUGS AND BRINGING IN the wind chimes before closing for the day. Livy’s sister had been “not herself” for about a month, and it was about a month ago Kit had ticked off the goblins by not getting them enough gold on time, and had to make it up to them with the milk steamer. He had suspected them of messing with someone in retaliation, though hadn’t been able to find any proof. Could it have been Skye?
Then again, he suspected the goblins every time something bad happened to anyone in town. Car accident, health trouble, tree falling on a house, didn’t matter, his first thought was always goblins, and his second was always whether he could have prevented it by somehow appeasing them better.
Trouble was, he usually couldn’t prove it wasn’t them. They didn’t always fess up to their mischief, and only sometimes boasted about their crimes.
The worst case, as far as Kit knew, was the man who died of hypothermia two years ago. Kit hadn’t known him, really; he was a fisherman in his fifties and lived alone. Spent most of his time on his boat, the neighbors said. Then one icy morning a hiker found him dead of exposure in the forest, wearing just a single layer of clothes, insufficient for the cold weather. Why he’d gone out there at night without a coat or hat, no one could say. He hadn’t been drunk or anything. His neighbors did say, after the death, that he hadn’t been himself lately. Just like Livy’s sister.