He was being stared at. And not in the soft and sultry way he wanted Denise to stare at him while she mentally undressed him. Or physically—he wasn’t picky. This stare was hard and suspicious.

Cracking open an eyelid, he found Kaden sitting on the coffee table. Opening both eyes fully, he angled his head on the pillow Denise had left him and rubbed his eyes. “Good morning.”

“Why are you asleep on our couch?”

Shit. The last thing he expected to wake up to was an interrogation. Denise was supposed to have woken him before she got the kids up so he could leave without them seeing him.

“Uh. I was helping your aunt pack last night and it got really late. I was too tired to drive home, so she let me sleep on the couch.”

“Aunt Denny’s still asleep.” Kaden at with his hands tucked between his knees as if he expected Chris to have a solution to the problem.

He checked his watch and sat up fully, swinging his feet to the floor. “What time do you have to catch the bus? Do you take the bus or does Denise take you?”

“We take the bus. Aunt Denny walks us to the bus stop at seven-thirty. No one else’s parents walk them to the bus stop. Aunt Denny said it’s because those parents don’t like their kids as much as she likes us. I don’t know if that’s true. Except for maybe Justice. He’s a bully. He tries to take everyone’s toys if they bring one to school. He tried to pull Kimber’s hair one day, but I told him I’d punch him in the ball sac if he did it. My mom said it was my job to protect her because all little girls deserve protection. Except when she plays with my Power Rangers and makes them marry her Barbie. Then I don’t want to protect her.”

Holy word vomit. Did all little kids talk that much? He scrubbed a hand over his head. “Uh, I don’t know how much other parents like their kids, but I know Denise likes you and your sister a whole lot. Why don’t we let her sleep for a few more minutes and I’ll help you with breakfast?”

Kaden gazed at him somberly, as if weighing the pros and cons of his decision. “Okay.”

Chris smiled. “Okay. Is Kimber awake?”

“Not yet.”

“Why don’t you wake her up and get dressed and I’ll fix your breakfast. What do you normally have?”

“Scrambled eggs and toast with peanut butter and milk.”

Chris nodded and found a whole new level of respect for what Denise had to handle since she’d taken on the care of Kaden and Kimber. “I should be able to figure that out. You got your part covered?”

Kaden nodded back.

“Let’s do it.” He held his fist up for a bump. Kaden stared at it, stared at Chris, then back at his fist. For one awkward moment, he thought the little boy would leave him hanging. He didn’t think his ego would take being dissed by a nine-year-old, but Kaden finally bumped his fist with his own.

Pride swelled in his chest like he’d been given a special, once-in-a-lifetime gift. Hell, maybe he had been. Kaden stood and shuffled down the hall. Chris scratched at the stubble on his chin. His whole existence had just been validated by a fist bump from a kid. Shaking his head, he pushed to his feet and checked on Denise.

She’d left the door to her room cracked, probably so she could hear the kids if they woke up during the night. Pushing it open a little more, he found her sprawled on her stomach, wrapped around a pillow with her hair spread out behind her. He could see the sweet spot next to her where he’d fit perfectly—his face tucked into the curve of her neck, arm thrown over her, his leg nestled between hers.

Sprocket raised her head from her position at the end of the bed and regarded him with her large brown eyes.

Great. Now he was being judged by a dog.

Easing the door closed, he went into the small galley kitchen. Opening and closing the few lower cabinets, he found a skillet for the eggs. Kaden and Kimber climbed onto the stools at the small eat-at counter that formed an “L” on one side of the kitchen while he pulled eggs and milk from the fridge.

Setting the ingredients on the counter, he braced his hands on the edge. “Let’s talk eggs. Hard or soft?”

Kimber rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Huh?”

“Do you like them a little runny or cooked really well?”

“Really well,” Kaden said.

“Runny eggs are gross,” Kimber added.

“Runny equals gross. Got it.” Chris nodded and opened more cupboards until he found a bowl. Pulling a fork from the drawer in front of him, he scrambled eggs under the intense scrutiny of two kids. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in such a nerve-wracking situation—not even when he’d been going through evaluation at the FBI Academy.

They whispered to themselves while he stirred the eggs. He made eggs almost every morning, but this morning he felt like he was auditioning for a cooking show, presenting his creation to the top foodies in the country. Maybe they were the Gordon Ramsay of second and third grade and they were critiquing his technique.

“Where can I find plates?” he asked, turning the burner off and moving the skillet over.

“Our plates are in the big bottom drawer,” Kaden said.

“You have your own plates?”

“Mine’s the purple one,” Kimber said.

Sure enough, a stack of plastic colored plates and utensils took up the bottom drawer. Still hunched over, he asked, “Kaden, what color do you want?”

“Orange.”

Chris pulled out the requested plates and matching forks. When he rose from his crouch, Kimber was whispering in Kaden’s ear. “What’s up? Are these the wrong plates?”

Kaden shook his head. “No. She wants to know if you’re going to do her hair for school.”

He…what? No. He was not trained for that. “Uh, I think we’ll wake your aunt up to do that. I would probably make a horrible mess of it.” There was no probably about it. Even the idea of trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with Kimber’s waist-long hair had him longing to be hunkered down behind a makeshift barrier taking fire from an unseen enemy. Taliban ambush in the wilds of Afghanistan? Bring it on. Fixing a little girl’s hair? No, sir-ee.

A muffled “shit” followed closely by a bark from Sprocket derailed his thought train.

“Looks like Denise is awake.”

Kimber giggled behind her hand and he winked at the little girl. Taking the pan from the stove, he divided the eggs between the two plates. He set the pan on the stove and popped bread into the toaster.

“Kaden! Kimber! Wake up, guys. We’re late.” Denise rushed out of her room and across the small living room, dining room combo, pulling her hair up into a messy bun on her head.

Long hair was absolutely her territory. No one said anything as she went down the short hallway. Kimber giggled quietly and Kaden smiled before taking a bite of eggs. It was like they were all part of an inside joke, none of them willing to be the first one to call attention to themselves in the kitchen. Inexplicable warmth spread through Chris’s chest.

Shit. He had no business feeling this comfortable with these kids.

“Kaden? Kimber? Where—?” She stopped in the living room, hands her hips, having finally spotted them.

Kaden laughed and Kimber giggled again. Denise smiled, thankfully. “What are you guys doing?” she asked.

“Eating breakfast, silly,” Kimber said.

“I see that. Did you guys make that or did Mr. Chris make it for you?” Her eyebrows rose in question.

Shit. He might have made a huge error in judgment. He looked at it from Denise’s point of view and realized he should have woken her up as soon as Kaden went to get Kimber. He’d only been trying to do something nice for Denise by letting her sleep a few more minutes, but now he thought she might look at it as him trying to manipulate the kids.

Fuck.

“Mr. Chris made eggs,” Kaden said. “We were going to wake you up to do Kimber’s hair. He looked a little freaked out when she asked if he was going to do it for her.”

“He did, huh?” She joined them in the kitchen. “Don’t suppose he made coffee too, did he?”

He couldn’t tell if she was pissed that he’d overstepped his bounds. “No, unfortunately I haven’t gotten around to that.”

She grabbed the carafe from the coffee maker, filling it with water from the sink. She quickly set the coffee up to brew. “You guys good with buying lunch today or do you want me to make you something real quick?”

“Can I take my lunch?” Kimber asked. “I don’t like the stuff they give us at school. It’s always mushy.”

“Yeah, baby. I’ll make you lunch.” She pulled down a jar of peanut butter and held it out to Chris.

“What’s this for?”

“Toast.” She pointed behind him.

The bread had popped up while he’d been assessing her level of anger. He took the jar and grabbed a knife from the drawer. She didn’t appear to be angry at all. Either that, or she was hiding it well. Given he’d never been able to read her under normal circumstances, he’d probably have to wait until the kids were on the bus before she unloaded on him.

He set the toast on the kids’ plates and moved out of the kitchen. Leaning against the counter across from the kids, he watched Denise prepare their lunches. She seemed to do everything at once—taking coffee mugs down, pulling out fruit and vegetables, bread and lunch meat, sandwich bags and lunch containers. In less time than it took for him to find their colored plates, she had their lunches packed and ready to go.

“Okay, guys. Plates in the sink, then brush your teeth. We’ve got to hurry or you’ll miss the bus.”

“Aunt Denny, will you braid my hair today?” Kimber asked.

“Sure. Bring me your brush when you’re done brushing your teeth.”

“Okay.” The kids hopped down from the stools and dropped their plates in the sink, before running to the bathroom.

Chris wasn’t sure if he should offer to help with something else or stay out of the way of their routine. He gathered up the remaining dirty dishes from breakfast and set them in the sink, running water over them so the food wouldn’t stick.

“You can leave those, I’ll wash them later.”

“It’s no problem,” he said.

She didn’t say anything as Kimber returned with a brush and some hair clips. She climbed back up on the stool and folded her hands on the counter while Denise brushed out her hair. Denise’s nimble fingers gathered up sections of Kimber’s hair and quickly had it braided down her back. After securing the end, she clipped barrettes into the sides.

“There you go. Shoes on. Jacket on. Get your backpack. Kaden! Let’s go, buddy.”

“I’m ready, Aunt Denny.”

Denise herded them toward the door, slipping into flip-flops, pulling a hoodie over her head, and grabbing her keys as she ushered the kids outside.

The silence when they left was deafening after the commotion of the last few minutes. He stared down at Sprocket, curled up on a dog bed in the corner of the dining room. “Am I supposed to wait for her or am I supposed to leave.”

The dog licked her chops, whined, and rolled to her side.

“Thanks. That clears that up.”