Sanctuary

eyes. This morning they were heavy, the color of cloudy seas, and already carefully accented with mascara and liner.
    “Waffles,” she said. Her voice was a feline purr she’d practiced religiously and made her own. “Yum.”
    Unimpressed, Brian cut the first bite as he stood, and shoveled it into his mouth. “Mine.”
    Lexy tossed back her gypsy mane of hair, strolled over to the breakfast bar and pouted prettily. She fluttered her lashes and smiled when Brian set the plate in front of her. “Thanks, sweetie.” She laid a hand on his cheek and kissed the other.
    Lexy had the very un-Hathaway-like habit of touching, kissing, hugging. Brian remembered that after their mother had left, Lexy had been like a puppy, always leaping into someone’s arms, looking for a snuggle. Hell, he thought, she’d only been four. He gave her hair a tug and handed her the syrup.
    “Anyone else up?”
    “Mmm. The couple in the blue room are stirring. Cousin Kate was in the shower.”
    “I thought you were handling the breakfast shift this morning.”
    “I am,” she told him with her mouth full.
    He lifted a brow, skimmed his gaze over her short, thin, wildly patterned robe. “Is that your new waitress uniform?”
    She crossed long legs and slipped another bite of waffle between her lips. “Like it?”
    “You’ll be able to retire on the tips.”
    “Yeah.” She gave a half laugh and pushed at the waffles on her plate. “That’s been my lifelong dream—serving food to strangers and clearing away their dirty plates, saving the pocket change they give me so I can retire in splendor.”
    “We all have our little fantasies,” Brian said lightly and set a cup of coffee, loaded with cream and sugar, beside her. He understood her bitterness and disappointment, even if he didn’t agree with it. Because he loved her, he cocked his head and said, “Want to hear mine?”
    “Probably has something to do with winning the Betty Crocker recipe contest.”
    “Hey, it could happen.”
    “I was going to be somebody, Bri.”
    “You are somebody. Alexa Hathaway, Island Princess.”
    She rolled her eyes before she picked up her coffee. “I didn’t last a year in New York. Not a damn year.”
    “Who wants to?” The very idea gave him the creeps. Crowded streets, crowded smells, crowded air.
    “It’s a little tough to be an actress on Desire.”
    “Honey, you ask me, you’re doing a hell of a job of it. And if you’re going to sulk, take the waffles up to your room. You’re spoiling my mood.”
    “It’s easy for you.” She shoved the waffles away. Brian nabbed the plate before it slid off the counter. “You’ve got what you want. Living in nowhere day after day, year after year. Doing the same thing over and over again. Daddy’s practically given the house over to you so he can tromp around the island all day to make sure nobody moves so much as one grain of his precious sand.”
    She pushed herself up from the stool, flung out her arms. “And Jo’s got what she wants. Big-fucking-deal photographer, traveling all over the world to snap her pictures. But what do I have? Just what do I have? A pathetic résumé with a couple of commercials, a handful of walk-ons, and a lead in a three-act play that closed in Pittsburgh on opening night. Now I’m stuck here again, waiting tables, changing other people’s sheets. And I hate it.”
    He waited a moment, then applauded. “Hell of a speech, Lex. And you know just what words to punch. You might want to work on the staging, though. The gestures lean toward grandiose.”
    Her lips trembled, then firmed. “Damn you, Bri.” She jerked her chin up before stalking out.
    Brian picked up her fork. Looked like he was two for two that morning, he thought, and decided to finish off her breakfast as well.
     
     
    WITHIN an hour Lexy was all smiles and southern sugared charm. She was a skilled waitress—which had saved her from total poverty during her stint in New York—and served her tables with every appearance of pleasure and unhurried grace.
    She wore a trim skirt just short enough to irritate Brian, which had been her intention, and a cap-sleeved sweater that she thought showed off her figure to best advantage. She had a good one and worked hard to keep it that way.
    It was a tool of the trade whether waitressing or acting. As was her quick, sunny smile.
    “Why don’t I warm that coffee up for you, Mr. Benson? How’s your omelette? Brian’s an absolute wonder in the