How’s it going?
Great. She’s sound asleep on my couch.
I snapped a quick picture of her and sent it to him.
Awesome. I’m jealous.
I smiled, imagining him all wrapped up in that fluffy white blanket stretched out on my couch. Then my stomach whooshed—what would it be like to lie with him like that on a cold winter afternoon, his arms around me, snow falling softly outside the windows, the heat between our bodies keeping us warm …
Omigod. Stop it.
I forced myself to calm down and type something more acceptable.
Did you get some lunch?
Not yet.
I’ve got homemade chicken soup if you want some. Come on up.
The three dots appeared, and as they faded in and out, I held my breath. I was always offering to make dinner on Thursdays and Fridays when I watched the kids, but he never took me up on the offer, so I figured he’d turn down lunch, too.
That sounds really good, but I’m swamped.
I’ll heat some up in a container.
You can take it with you.
You are tempting me …
LOL ask my mom how to get up here. I’ll heat the soup!
It took him a minute to reply, but when he did, he said okay.
I almost squealed. He was coming up to my apartment! He’d never done that before! Setting my phone aside, I hurried into the kitchen, ladled some soup into a plastic container, and stuck it in the microwave. Then I ran into the bathroom and looked in the mirror over the sink. I was still wearing my work clothes, a dark green Cloverleigh collared shirt and black pants. Nothing I could do about that now, but I fussed with my hair and put on another coat of mascara. At the last second, I gave one wrist a spritz of perfume and rubbed it against the other.
You are tempting me …
If only! God, what I wouldn’t give to be the kind of woman who could really tempt him.
The microwave beeped and I went back to the kitchen, took the soup out, stirred it up, then pressed the lid into place. In a second little container, I placed some crackers and a couple macarons, then tucked everything into a brown paper bag with a spoon and a couple napkins.
A minute later, there were three soft knocks at my door, echoed by three hard ones in my chest. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I put my hand on the knob and pulled.
“Hi,” he said quietly, a sheepish half-grin on his face. “I heard you’re feeding the hungry today.”
I smiled, positive he could hear my heart thwacking against my ribs. “Come on in.”
He entered my suite and glanced around, sticking his hands in his pockets. “This is nice.”
“Thanks. It’s small, but it suits me. Winnie’s on the couch if you want to peek at her.” I nodded over my shoulder.
“Okay.” While he wandered toward the couch, I took the brown bag with his lunch in it off the kitchen counter. After a quick look at her, he turned around smiling. “If only they were always so sweet, right?”
“Your girls are pretty sweet all the time.” I handed him the bag, one hand on the bottom, one holding the handles. “Here you go. Careful.”
“Thanks.” He took it from me, and both our hands touched. “I appreciate this.”
“No problem. If you like it, I can give you the recipe. It’s easy.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know who you’re talking to. Ask my kids what a terrible cook I am.”
I couldn’t hide a smile. “They’ve already volunteered that info.”
“Did they?” He chuckled. “Little shits.”
“Don’t feel bad. If I were as busy as you, I probably wouldn’t know how to cook either.”
“I keep thinking I’ll learn, but I suppose I should actually make an effort at it,” he said with a sigh. “Thanks again for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I mean that.”
“No problem.” I followed him to the door. I felt like skipping. “I’ll head over to your house when she wakes up.”
“Perfect. God, this smells good.” He sniffed the bag. “You better be careful not to spoil me, or I’ll be hanging around your door like a stray dog all the time.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t mind.”
He gave me a rueful, boyish grin that made my insides melt and disappeared down the hall.
Twenty minutes later, my heart was still pounding.
“What’s got you so smiley?” my mother asked when Winnie and I came downstairs to say goodbye.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said airily, watching the little girl dart down the hall toward her dad’s office.
“Frannie Sawyer, you’re a terrible liar.” She crossed her arms. “What’s in that head of yours?”
I could hardly tell her how happy it had made me to pack a lunch for Mack, so I decided to confide in her about Mrs. Radley’s suggestion.
“You know the bride from last weekend? She had an idea for me.” Thirty seconds into the story, I was sorry.
“I don’t know, Frannie,” my mother fretted, shaking her head. Then she hurled a million questions at me without giving me a chance to answer them. “A bakery? Where would it be? Who would run it?”
“I would.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Running a business would be much too hard and stressful for you. You don’t know anything about it.”
“I could learn,” I bristled.
“But why would you need to? You already have a job here. And your macarons are so popular for weddings.”
“It would be nice to have my own thing for once, Mom,” I said testily. “Do you have to shoot this down before we even talk it over? Just like you shoot down everything I’ve asked to do on my own?”
She looked offended. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s the same old thing. I don’t know why I even bothered to think you’d be excited for me.”
“Frannie!”
“It’s the truth, Mom. I wanted to do all the things my sisters did, but the answer was always no. Play sports. Go away to college. Backpack through Europe. I’ve never even been out of the country!”
She looked around to make sure no guests heard me shout, then lifted her chin. “You can’t compare yourself to your sisters. You were different, Frannie. Special. There were limits to what your heart could handle.”
“Not anymore.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” she said, her eyes welling up. “We only worry so much because we love you, honey. You’re still our baby, and—”
I groaned, holding up one hand and pulling open the door with the other. “Enough. I’m sorry I even brought it up. I need to go get Winnie.”
Simmering with anger, I moved down the hall toward Mack’s office.
Mack
I devoured the lunch Frannie had packed for me—every last cracker crumb, drop of soup, and sugary bite of whatever kind of cookie that was. I’d never tasted anything so fancy and delicious. In fact, when I was done, I kept looking in that empty brown bag, hoping for more to magically appear.
I’d pay her extra this week, so I wouldn’t feel like I was taking advantage of her kindness. Normally I’d have refused her offer to pack me a lunch, but it was such a cold day and homemade chicken soup had sounded so good. When was the last time I’d eaten soup that hadn’t come from a can?
Carla hadn’t been much of a cook even before things fell apart with us, but she’d been better than me.
Which wasn’t saying much.
I glanced at the photo of the girls on my desk and fought off the quick stab of guilt, always sharpest when I worried I hadn’t done enough to fix the marriage, hadn’t tried hard enough to make it work for the sake of the kids. It was a constant knife in my heart.
“Daddy!”
I looked up to see Winifred darting into my office, dressed to go outside. “Hey, you! Did you have a nice nap?”
“Yes.” She climbed onto my lap and looped her arms around my neck, telling me all about the lunch they’d made, the cookies
they were going to bake this afternoon, and napping on Frannie’s “cloud blanket.”
She was still rambling when Frannie appeared in the doorway wearing snow boots, a puffy white winter coat and a burgundy hat with a furry ball on top of it. It was adorable on her. I wished she’d come and sit on my lap too.
“Sorry, got stuck talking to my mom,” Frannie explained, tugging on her gloves. She didn’t sound too happy about it.
“Everything okay? Does this still work for you, or does she need you here?”
“This still works.” But her expression remained tense.
“I don’t believe you.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “Sometimes my mother drives me nuts.”
“Yeah, mine too. They know how to push our buttons.” I wanted to cheer her up a little, she looked so down. “Hey, thanks a million for lunch. It was delicious.”
Her features eased into a smile. “You’re welcome. Winnie liked it too—she ate two bowls of soup. And I meant what I said about the recipe. I’d be happy to share.”
I looked down at Winnie. “What do you think? Can I handle making homemade chicken soup?”
She giggled and shook her head. “No way.”
I sighed. “But I need to be feeding you guys healthier stuff. I should at least try.”
“Frannie says we can make lemon macaroni today,” Winnie announced.
Frannie laughed and stuck her hands on her hips. “Macarons, not macaroni. Not that those are very healthy. Those were the cookies in your lunch,” she said to me. “Did you like them?”
“Yeah. I kept looking for more in the bag. I’m not a huge dessert person but those were delicious. Not overly sweet.”
“If they’re done right, they shouldn’t be too sweet. And,” she added with a smile, “they’re gluten-free.”
“Thanks. Hey, how did you get to be so good in the kitchen?” I asked her, genuinely curious.
She shrugged. “I spent a lot of time at home with my mom growing up. She always made sure I ate really healthy because of—well, just because. And winters are long up here. Cooking and baking filled the time.”
“Winters are long up here.” I glanced out the one window in my office. Snowflakes continued to fall lightly, but it was supposed to get heavier tonight. “You better get moving. The driving isn’t going to get any better.”
“Do you know how much snow we’re going to get tonight?” she asked. “I heard eight to ten inches.”
I’d like to give you eight to ten inches tonight, I thought. What I said was, “I think that’s about right, but it’s not supposed to start really coming down until five or six. You okay to drive in this?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. My dad gave all of us extensive lessons in driving in the snow.”
“True story,” said a gruff male voice.
I looked up to see John Sawyer’s tall, thick frame appear in the hallway behind Frannie. He put an arm around his daughter’s neck, getting her in a headlock.
“Dad,” she complained, pulling at his arm. “Let go.”
“Never.” He kept her there and looked over her shoulder at me. “Got time to go over a few things?”
I nodded, kissed Winnie’s head and pushed her gently from my lap. “Yep. Be good, Winn. I’ll see you later.” To Sawyer, I said, “Your daughter has rescued me by agreeing to watch my kids this afternoon.”
“She’s a good egg,” said Sawyer, squeezing her tightly.
“Thanks, Dad. Now let me go before I choke to death.”
Sawyer laughed as he released her. “You be careful out there. And call me if you don’t want to drive home later. I’ll come get you.”
“I can bring her back,” I offered. “Millie’s old enough to stay with the younger two, or I can toss them in the car.”
Sawyer hitched up his jeans and leaned down to talk to Winnie, hands on his knees. He never wore dress clothes to work—said he was a farmer more than anything else and was happiest outside in the dirt. “And how are you, peanut?”
“Good.”
“No school today?”
“I already went,” she told him.
“Ah. Well, if it keeps snowing like this, maybe you won’t have to go tomorrow.”
I groaned. “Don’t jinx us, Sawyer. I’ve got work to do tomorrow.”
“I can always watch them here if they want to come into work with you,” offered Frannie.
“Don’t you have to work?” I asked.
“My parents own the place,” she said, giving her dad a poke on the shoulder. “I don’t think they’d fire me for taking a day off. And maybe we could take the sleigh out again, Winnie. Would you like that?”
“Yes!” Winifred exclaimed.
“What we should do is put up a sign selling rides on that thing,” Sawyer said. “We could probably make a fortune this week.”
“Dad!” Frannie was outraged. “The idea was just to have the sleigh for the guests to ride for fun. And to use for weddings.”
“Fun has a price, doesn’t it?”
She rolled her eyes at her father. “It’s not all about the money, Dad. Jeez.”
Sawyer looked at me and shook his head. “My daughters are going to break me, Mack. If it’s not April with her heated wedding barn, it’s Chloe with her distillery, or Frannie giving everything away for free. And those are just the three that live here!”
I laughed. “Frannie’s got a soft heart. But I hear you—my daughters are going to break me as well. Probably with the swear jar.”
Frannie clucked her tongue and reached for Winifred’s hand. “Come on, Winnie. We don’t have to take this abuse.”
“Bye,” I called as they walked out hand in hand. “Thank you!”
Over her shoulder, Frannie stuck her tongue out at me. But then she winked, and my chest felt tight.
Sawyer came toward me and sat down in one of the chairs across from my desk, launching into his financial concerns about purchasing the new bottling lines and wondering what I thought about Chloe’s distillery idea, then complaining about how his wife was always nagging at him to slow down and consider retirement.
I heard him, but in all honesty my thoughts were on Frannie. Was she okay driving in this snow? Was the house clean enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed? Had I left any piles of my underwear folded on the dining room table?
As the afternoon hours dragged by, the snow falling faster and heavier, I kept wondering what everyone was doing. Had the girls finished their homework? Had Millie practiced piano? Had Felicity conned her way into more iPad time? Around four thirty, I got a text from Frannie.
Making dinner and dessert.
A few seconds later, the message was followed by a series of pictures showing each of the girls in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, grins on their faces, hands busy with kitchen tools. Apparently, I owned a mixer.
Then there was one photo showing something simmering in a big pot on the stove—was it chili? Just looking at it warmed my belly.
Wow. Is that really happening in my kitchen?
It is! And your girls are doing all the work. Almost. :)
I didn’t want to be at work anymore. I wanted to be home with them, hanging out in the kitchen and smelling that chili, drinking a beer and listening to my daughters laugh. We never had fun like that on school nights, which always felt to me like a list of things to tick off—homework, dinner, piano, reading, baths, bed. Piano on Tuesdays. Therapy every other Wednesday. Ballet on Thursdays.
Homework done? I asked, feeling a bit like a curmudgeon.
Yes. And Millie says to tell you she practiced piano already, and Felicity wants you to know she read two chapters in her book.
Sounds like you have everything under control. Was the driving bad?
Roads were slippery. I went slow. Be careful!!
I assured her I would and tried to get a few more things done at my desk, but found it hard to concentrate. I was about to call it a day when my phone vibrated.
Ry
an Woods calling, it said on the screen.
I smiled and picked it up. “I thought you were dead, asshole.”
Woods laughed. “Nah. Just busy.”
“I bet. How’s everything going with the wedding plans?”
“Pretty good. Although what the fuck do I know?”
“You ready to do this thing?”
“Yeah. That, I know.”
I laughed. “Good.”
Woods was a buddy from the Marines, although by now he was like a brother to me. We’d been deployed together in Afghanistan and had remained tight. Like me, he’d struggled to adjust to his old life once he got back for good, and I got him a job at Cloverleigh as well as a place to live. The house had been a mess before he moved in and refurbished it.
Despite being busy, he’d found time to fall in love with Stella Devine, the granddaughter of Mrs. Gardner next door. She’d come up from Detroit for a visit, Woods had taken one look at her and that was that. When he moved down to Detroit to be with her, the girls and I moved into the house. He and Stella were getting married at Cloverleigh in a few weeks. I was the best man.
Hopefully I wouldn’t jinx him.
“So when are you coming up?” I asked. “Am I supposed to be planning some kind of bachelor night?”
“No,” he said emphatically. “Neither Stella nor I want anything like that. I’d settle for a few beers somewhere. We’re coming up on the Wednesday before the wedding, and Thursday is the day Stella and her sisters are doing some kind of all-day girl thing, so maybe we can hang out that night.”
“Done,” I said. “My parents get in that day, and God knows I’ll need to escape the house. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too.” He lowered his voice. “All this wedding shit is driving me crazy. I’m trying to be interested and involved, but Jesus fuck.”
I laughed. “I can imagine.”
“And the cost—my God, we want to pay for everything ourselves, but I had no idea how expensive things are. And her sister Emme, who’s a wedding planner, has talked her into all these extras. It’s insanity. Stella has lost her mind, I swear.”
Irresistible: Cloverleigh Farms Standalone Page 4