Max
I step out of the steam filled bathroom with the towel flung over my shoulder, running a hand through my wet hair. Asher is slumped against the doorframe, typing on his phone. There is a bundle of what I assume are clothes under his arm.
"Can I use your bathroom? Christopher beat me to the other."
"Yeah, fine." He ducks into the bathroom gleefully.
"Don't use up the body wash," I yell over my shoulder as the door slams shut. "That shit's expensive!"
A delicious smell fills the air. I plod downstairs to chuck my old clothes in the laundry, and am met with the sight of my stepsister standing on the marble countertop, narrowly missing the sizzling pan on the stove, reaching in vain for what appears to be the cupboard where the plates are kept.
"Dammit," she curses under her breath, and inches closer to the edge of the counter.
I walk forward with the intention of helping her get what she needs. "What are you doing?" The words slip past my lips before I can stop them. It's instinctual, I guess.
Unfortunately, this 'instinct' of mine causes Evangeline to startle violently. She wobbles, tipping over the edge of the counter. I lunge forward to catch her (See? Reflex), but somehow trip. I hear a distinct 'bang'.
"Shit!" She cries and falls off the counter, slamming into my chest. The weight of her momentum causes us both to crash to the floor, with her on top of me.
I lie still, momentarily paralysed from the impact of the floor. Evangeline groans, pressing a hand against my chest. She pushes herself up, slumping against the side of the island, one and rubbing the side of her head. I sit up quickly, wincing. My back aches.
"I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?" Panic surges in my chest. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I caused her to get injured. Neither would my brothers. We have all gotten super attached to her in she short period we've known each other.
"Nope," she mumbles. "Just hit my head, that's all."
I help her onto one of the barstools and grab an ice pack for her head. Her feet do not reach the floor. "What were you doing, exactly?" I effortlessly reach up and grab the plates that she failed to reach.
Evangeline's cheeks flush. She brushes back a lock of hair that has escaped from her bun away her eyes. "Trying to get plates."
My brows raise. "You need a stool? Why didn't you ask us before?" She lowers her inky lashes. "I didn't wanna give you guys any trouble."
"There should be one in the store room. Next time, please let us know if you need anything. Again, I'm really sorry for making you fall." It's my turn to blush. Why am I feeling embarrassed? This is not the usual stoic, quiet Maxwell. Is it Evangeline?
My thoughts are interrupted by a faintly acrid smell that fills the air. "Crap!" Evangeline shoots out of her chair, abandoning the ice pack and swings her legs over the island to get to the stove. The barstool is raised to the max, considering her height. I have to admit, that move is pretty badass. "There goes that pancake," she mumbles.
She throws me a grin and grabs a metal bowl a little off to the side, and pours the batter into the pan. She seems to have forgotten about her injury. "Breakfast will be ready in five."
