Outlaws - Yolanda Olson Page 0,2

should begin to dig in as soon as she’s fixed me a bowl or plate.

She regains her composure quickly, drops the spoon into her bowl, and looks at me expectantly.

“I don’t know if I want to singe my esophagus just yet,” I tease, making a face at her.

Sylvie rolls her eyes good-naturedly, then shrugs as she picks up the handle of her spoon. She scoops up more of the stew, only this time, she pauses briefly to blow on it before cautiously placing it into her mouth.

“Just blow on it, Kester. A breath is all you need,” she instructs with a nod as she swallows her dinner.

I grin when the corner of her eye twitch slightly. Obviously, it will take more than just a breath to cool down tonight’s supper, but I’m in no rush to get home, so I don’t mind waiting for a while.

Chapter Three

“How was your day?” I ask as I begin to gently swirl my spoon in the bowl. I have a theory that this might help cool it down fast enough for me to dig in without letting it sit. I’m afraid that it would make me feel ungrateful, and I know it’ll make Sylvie feel bad if I don’t start eating soon.

I don’t want that.

She feels bad about enough things that happen in this damn place.

She shrugs as she scoops up another helping.

I let out a loud sigh as I let go of the handle and reach across the open space between us. Placing a hand on her knee, I wait until her eyes meet mine.

“What’s he done now?”

“Nothing, that’s just the point. He seems to forget that I’m even alive most days. It’s not fair, Kester. I love him too and he doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore.”

“When was the last time?” I ask her thoughtfully as I sit back and finally scoop up a serving of the stew. I remember that Sylvie told me to blow on it, which I do briefly, before shoveling it into my mouth. The taste is so damn gratifying that I have to fight the urge to attack the rest of it as quickly as possible. Especially since I know that she’ll end up filling my bowl again if I finish too fast. Sylvie will give me what’s left to keep me full and have nothing left for herself.

How the hell is she part of this goddamn family? On what planet does any of this make fucking sense?

“I’ve been trying to get him to talk to me,” I say conversationally as I shovel another spoonful into my mouth. I can feel Sylvie’s eyes on me before I meet them, and I smile slightly. She’s watching me with equal parts curiosity, suspicion, and pride.

“About?” she presses cautiously.

“I want to get out of here. I never wanted any of this,” I confess with a shrug.

“He won’t let you leave,” she replies glumly.

“He will,” I reply confidently as I spin the bowl in my hand. I hold it up to eye level, inspecting the design on it. Clearly, this is handmade and being able to figure out how many lines and small letters are on it, should tell me by who. I tilt my head to the side, my eyes focusing on Sylvie. “You did a great job with this. The bowl and the stew.”

Her pale face turns bright red, most of the freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose disappearing beneath the crimson blush. She’s not used to praise, and while I don’t hand it out sparingly, I really do appreciate the work she put into this.

I look away to give her a moment of privacy.

But as I go back to eating my stew, it suddenly dawns on me how different Tallulah and Sylvie look.

Tallulah is much smaller height-wise. She barely comes up to my shoulder. Her chestnut brown hair cascades around her face in thick waves, and her eyes are as blue as the teal in the late afternoon skies I adore so much. I always manage to separate the two though, because she’s taken enough from me and I won’t allow her to take away one of the few colors that stand out anymore. Tallulah’s skin is the color of freshly picked peaches and just as smooth. Her hips are wide, her arms and legs are thin, and I’ve never seen someone carry themselves with such high regard before I met her father.

Sylvie on the other hand is about my height, maybe less so by