All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

shared one parent between the two of them? Because, unlike Silas’s tawny skin and dark hair, the other guy looked like he could be a Viking.

As noiselessly as possible, I slid the glass door open and stepped onto the back porch, watching in earnest as Silas picked up another round of pinecones to pitch.

“Don’t wimp out on me now, old man,” Jake heckled. “Let’s do five more. Consider this your workout for the day.”

“I finished my six-mile run before your alarm went off for work.”

“Fine. Then consider this your stress therapy. I’m a lot cheaper than a shrink.”

“And you would know that how, exactly?” Silas asked. “You skipped the one session I set up for you with our house therapist, Denise.”

“True. But what do I need a shrink for when I have you for free?” The Viking laughed with a levity that caused me to smile as Silas pitched the next few. “Okay, focus. If I miss this last one, then I’ll take the garbage disposal job in the main house.”

“Deal.” Silas warmed up his shoulders and prepared to throw his final pinecone from his makeshift pitcher’s mound. Obviously, Silas had played baseball at some point in his life. And it was then that I had the strangest epiphany: Silas had been a child at one point. And not only a child, but also an adolescent, one who likely stressed about girls and acne and embarrassing pre-puberty voice cracks. What an impossible revelation to have, considering he was quite possibly the adultiest adult I’d ever met.

He pitched the last pinecone, and a smile brightened his entire face as the Viking swung . . . and missed.

“Enjoy cleaning out that disposal, hot shot.” Silas clapped the dust off his hands while wearing what any female on earth would describe as a sexy smirk. “I’ll meet you at the boys’ cottage after you finish raking up the pine—”

But his words died off as he turned to find me standing ten yards away like some deranged stalker in a maxi dress.

He blinked at least three times in a row before his mouth moved. “Molly?”

Whatever I’d rehearsed in my house sometime after the clock struck midnight now felt as tangible as the vapor of perfume I’d spritzed on after my shower.

“Hi,” I said first to Silas, and then to the man who may or may not be his brother. “I didn’t make an appointment.” Not my smoothest opening line ever.

“It would appear not.”

“But I wasn’t sure you would agree to see me again if I called first.”

“So, naturally, you decided to come in person.” His even tone gave me absolutely nothing to work with.

I took in a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and glided toward him with ninety percent more confidence than I felt. Why did this guy rattle me so much? I’d pitched dozens of ideas to the agency, held meetings with executives about influencing their products, and even given an acceptance speech once for Cobalt Group’s 500,000 Subscribers Club Award last fall. But this guy made me feel like I was trapped inside a living game of Tetris, only I never knew which way I needed to slide or move or flip to make a play.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your day like this.” Although pinecone baseball hardly seemed like the most productive use of time for someone who walked around wearing an invisible Badge of Efficiency wherever he went. “But I’m hoping for just five minutes of your time to tell you that I thought about what you said—about the grit—and while I’m still pro grit, I do realize that there are likely more practical, more current needs to be addressed with your residents, and especially your young ladies at present. I typed up a syllabus for the life skills classes I could teach on Tuesday nights and even an outline for possible conversation topics I could help facilitate during the mentor connection time on Friday afternoons.” I slipped the portfolio out of my satchel and handed it to him. “I’ve also reviewed your privacy policies, and I’m happy to sign whatever contractual agreement you might need from me regarding house rules and the like.”

From my peripheral, I watched the man who’d just been wielding the rake like a baseball bat begin walking toward us, but I couldn’t shift my attention away from Silas now and lose momentum. Not when I was fully aware that any second he might cut in and smash any hope I had of gaining the mentor experience I needed before my audition. “I know you’re short on female volunteers, and I also know that the start date for your summer program is next week. Your residents deserve a solid program, and I’m asking you to let me be a part of it. I’m asking you for a redo.” I paused for only a blink, hoping the use of this specific vernacular might unlock the deadbolts bearing my name.

There was the slightest movement in his right cheek. The beginnings of a smile, maybe? Or perhaps a tic warning me to take my pretty portfolio off his property before he called the authorities on me for trespassing. I couldn’t be sure. “If you give me a chance to be on your team, I promise to run harder and faster than any volunteer you’ve ever brought on. I will make these young women my top priority.”

Silas stared without saying a word for nearly five seconds before he opened my portfolio and studied the typed syllabus as if I’d handed him blueprints for a jewelry heist in Vegas.

“You put all this together in two days?”

“Technically, in an evening—I was traveling for most of the day yesterday, so I just took notes on my phone that I transcribed last night, but yes.” I’d edited each page three times before I’d finally printed them out. I hoped he hadn’t spotted a typo.

He nodded again, his expression giving zero clues as to what he was thinking.

“‘Week One—Dress for Success: How to purchase a professional wardrobe on