“I want pancakes,” Dena rumbled in her deepest voice, and Kane couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his mouth.
“Pancakes?” Monica sat up as if this required deep consideration. “Round or heart-shaped?”
“Heart-shaped!” Dena hopped like this was the greatest moment of her life.
Kane watched Monica, unable to look away. She’d been prickly, stubborn, a pain in his ass—and now here she was, soft and sweet with this kid. It was a whole new side of her, and damn if he didn’t like it.
“All right, heart-shaped it is—but then it’s straight to bed.” Monica tried a stern look but failed miserably. Dena giggled again, completely unthreatened.
Kane leaned forward, pulling out the chair just as Dena scrambled up. He stayed vigilant, ready to catch her if she slipped.
“Want a heart-shaped pancake?” Monica asked him from the stove.
Kane glanced at Dena, leaning conspiratorially toward her. “Do I want a pancake?” He whispered loudly, then shot Monica a look before leaning back to Dena. “Is she a good cook?”
Dena nodded so hard her curls bounced. Kane chuckled.
“All right,” he said with a wink to Dena. “But only if it’s heart-shaped.”
Monica snorted, but the smile she tried to hide warmed something inside him that he didn’t even realize could still warm. It unsettled him so much that his instinct was to pull back, putting distance between them. It’s what he usually did. He didn’t get close to others, and he definitely didn’t do relationships.
Dena sat, studying him like he was an interesting new creature she wasn’t sure belonged in her kitchen. “Do you have kids?”
Kane blinked. Not many people caught him off guard, but this tiny human managed it. “Nope,” he said. “No kids.”
Dena frowned as if she was disappointed in that fact.
“Are you Aunt Monnie’s boyfriend?” Dena stage-whispered, which was basically yelling with extra breath.
“Dena!” Monica nearly dropped the spatula, batter dripping everywhere. “Where did you learn about boyfriends?”
“School,” Dena said confidently. “I have a boyfriend.”
Kane smothered a laugh when Monica’s mouth fell open.
“Oh, God,” Monica groaned, pointing the spatula accusingly. “Does your daddy or Uncle Doug know about this boyfriend?”
“No,” Dena whispered louder than she talked normally, wearing a mischievous smile.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Monica muttered, cheeks flushed. She glanced at Kane, then quickly away. “And he is not my boyfriend.”
“So, what’s this boy’s name, Dena?” Kane asked, instantly liking the kid even more. And the drive to find the bastard who killed her mother, which was already high, spiked into something lethal.
“Matthew,” she whispered again for no reason at all.
“And is Matthew nice to you?”
“Sometimes,” she said as Monica returned with butter and syrup.
Monica froze. “What do you mean sometimes? What has he done?”
“Easy,” Kane said before Monica marched off to declare war on a six-year-old.
“He put glue in my hair,” Dena said, frowning, then smiled. “But Ms. Mason got it out.”
“He did what?” Monica snapped, eyes narrowing. “I’ll?—”
Before Monica could say what she would do to a six-year-old boy, Kane stepped in quickly. “The pancakes are burning,” he said, nodding toward the stove.