“So, Olivia,” Tatchi said, still watching her brother with narrowed eyes. “Tell me about yourself. What do you do? Where do you live? Why are you dating my jackass of a brother?”

“I’m a physical therapist,” she began, her eyes flicking to Cade. He saw the question in them, and shrugged. They’d find out soon enough. “And at the moment, I live here.”

Tatchi’s eyes went wide and she choked on her pancakes, which Cade found pretty satisfying. When she’d stopped coughing, she wheezed, “You’re living here?”

“Um. Yeah. I kind of lost my apartment last week, and Cade offered me his guest room.”

“Right.” Tatchi dropped her gaze pointedly at Olivia’s legs, bare under Cade’s shirt. “The guest room.”

“That’s where I started out,” Olivia said with a smile. “Speaking of which, I should get my stuff out of there so you can settle in.”

“She’s nice, pretty, and considerate.” Tatchi looked at Cade. “I still don’t know why she’s dating you.”

“Oh, he has some redeeming qualities,” Olivia said, her eyes sparkling at him over her coffee cup. He winked at her, grateful he was still on the other side of the island, because his shorts were doing fuck all to hide how much he wished his sister wasn’t in the room.

Tatchi held up a hand. “Okay, ew. Can you not make swoony eyes at each other? I’m trying to eat.”

“Get your own house,” Cade suggested, and Olivia laughed.

“I’ll get the guest room ready,” Olivia said, her eyes dancing as she looked at Cade. “Okay if I take my coffee with me?”

“Of course, fofa.”

“Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Tatchi. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure.” Tatchi sent her a beaming smile. “Thanks for the pancakes.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll be up in a minute to give you a hand,” Cade said.

She waved a hand. “Stay and talk with your sister. I’ve got it.”

“I’ll be up in a minute to give you a hand,” he repeated pointedly. He watched her go, and when she was out of sight, turned back to his sister. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m going to start,” she replied with a grin, wiggling with glee. “I’m going to start hard. You called her fofa.”

“Tatchi,” he began warningly, but of course she ignored him.

“Fofa,” she repeated. “A nickname normally reserved for a small child, or something fluffy and cute. Except in our family, where it means—”

“I know what it means,” he cut her off.

“Uh-huh. Does she know what it means?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged. “And don’t tell her, either.”

“Okay.” She grinned and shoved pancakes in her mouth. “I’ll just tell Mom.”

“I’ll never let you stay here again.”