Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) Read Free Page B

surprise, the owner has a wonderful binder of menus from all the
restaurants in the vicinity. They are divided into sections according to whether
they deliver or not. There is another small binder of local grocery stores,
highlighting ones that deliver. I quickly make a couple of phone calls, placing
orders for food, wine, and dinner.
    While
I wait for my things to arrive, I unpack my clothes. My thought is that I’ll be
here for at least a month or two, maybe more. After a brief tour of this place,
I decide I want to buy something similar to it, but much larger than this. The
apartment is spacious—a one-bedroom with a huge bathroom, living area,
and nice sized kitchen combination dining area. In the back is a moss-covered
stone terrace that is walled off and very private. I’m not sure if the owner
lives in the main house that’s adjacent to this, but if so, I envy him or her.
    The
carriage house is equipped with a top of the line sound bar, so I sync my blue
tooth and put some tunes on. It’s not that I mind being alone; it’s the quiet
that gets to me. That’s when the memories rush in. Music keeps them at bay, so
I usually have something playing all the time, even if I have to wear
headphones.
    Not
much later there’s a knock on the door, and my food arrives. Shortly after
that, my groceries follow. And then my phone rings.
    “Yeah.”
    “What’s
all that noise?” It’s my sister-in-law.
    “I’m
putting away groceries that were just delivered, listening to music, and trying
to eat dinner.”
    “Hmm.
Busy much?”
    “No.
Only tonight. And you called right in the middle of it.”
    “You’re
always busy, Kestrel.”
    “Not
too busy for you.”
    “So?”
    “It’s
great. The office is great. My admin is awesome, except she makes shit coffee.”
    Gabby
breaks out into a fit of giggles. She knows I’m a coffee addict.
    “Oh,
God. What did she give you? Some generic ground up brand?”
    “Worse.
Instant.”
    “She
didn’t!”
    “Oh,
yes, she did. And her eyes bugged out when I told her it was shit. I wish you
could’ve seen her.”
    “Oh
my God! Poor woman.”
    “But
here’s something better. I told her not to call me ‘sir,’ only ‘Kestrel’. And
she kept saying, ‘Kestrel, sir’. I’m talking constantly, you know?”
    “Uh
huh.”
    “Well,
apparently it’s a Southern thing, but I thought she was afraid of me.”
    “No!
What did you say?”
    “I
asked her. And she finally cleared it all up.”
    “Oh,
shit. How funny.”
    “But,
here’s the best. There wasn’t a brew station in the office.”
    I
hear her spit out her drink and then cough.
    “Hey,
you okay?”
    “Yeah.
Give me a sec.”
    Then
she howls and I can hear her hand slapping the counter. “Holy shit, Kes , what are you gonna do?”
    “That’s
just it. She told me to go to Target.”
    “You?
Target? My pretentious asshole of a brother-in-law setting foot in a Target?”
She starts snorting now.
    “I
know, right? Am I that bad Gabby?”
    “Uh,
yeah. Well, mostly.”
    “Hmm.
I’m working on it, I swear. Anyway, I told her I’d never set foot in a Target and
now she thinks all New Yorkers are like me.”
    I
hear this loud bang, and then a crash, and nothing but snorting and laughing on
the other end. This is going to take a while. Finally she gets back on the
phone.
    “Jesus,
I’m dying here. I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall.”
    “Oh,
you would’ve loved it. After she realized I wasn’t an alien or something, she
finally volunteered to get me the coffee maker. But now I’m worried she’s going
to get one of those pieces of shit. You know—like the one you and Kol have.” Then it’s my turn to laugh.
    “Yeah,
you coffee snob. It would serve you right.”
    “Seriously
though, if she does, I’m screwed. I’ll have to buy one and sneak it in there
and hide it somewhere so her feelings don’t get hurt.”
    “Kestrel,
I’m sure you’ll figure that out.”
    “Hey,
I’m a sensitive