“If I’d told you that, you wouldn’t have helped me.” He wipes some sweat off his brow and throws me a bottle of water. “Let’s go into town and get lunch. You look like shit.”

“I didn’t get much sleep,” I admit.

“Didn’t you take Maggie out last night?”

“I did.”

Kane’s eyes narrow menacingly. “I don’t want to know about your sexcapades with my wee sister, mate.”

I laugh and follow Kane out of the barn. “Trust me, it’s not because of that. Come on, you can buy me a BLT at the diner in exchange for moving that heavy bastard.”

“Done.”

We walk straight to the car and, a few minutes later, pull up in front of the diner. It’s too early for the lunch crowd, so we’re escorted to a table right away.

“How did the date go?” Kane asks after we order our food.

“It was great. We had fun.”

I sit back and don’t elaborate, and Kane doesn’t ask more.

“Good.”

“How’s work been going?” I ask him. “Do you have any big shows coming up? Besides at the museum.”

Kane has an entire museum in Seattle dedicated to him and his glass art, and his work is on display all over the world. Royalty and presidents proudly display his pieces.

I’m damn proud of him.

“I’ve been asked to do a show in New York and London early next year,” he says and rubs his hand over his mouth. “But with a new baby and everything else going on with the family, I haven’t decided if I’ll do it.”

“You have literally an army of people here to help,” I remind him. “Stasia won’t be alone with the baby. In fact, I’m quite sure that your mother—or hers—would come and stay with her if need be. Or you can take them with you.”

“It’s a lot of work,” he admits softly. “They want fifty-six new pieces for the show, all done by March. I’m not a glass factory, and I have a new exhibit that we’re putting together at the museum. That’s almost a hundred pieces in the next six months. It’s not possible if I want to keep my sanity and enjoy my family.”

“That sounds like a shit ton,” I agree with a nod. “Tell them that it’ll be a small exhibit for New York and London. Fifteen pieces, and that’s it. Jesus, you’re the artist here, Kane. You should have creative control of this stuff.”

“You’re right,” he replies. “Anastasia said the same thing. I don’t know why I suddenly feel like I need to please everyone. I’ve never been like that before.”

“You always said that when the glassblowing wasn’t fun anymore, you’d stop doing it.”