Irresistible: Cloverleigh Farms Standalone

by Melanie Harlow

  “Next time,” she said. “So don’t forget what they are.”

  “Not a fucking chance,” I whispered in her ear.

  I warmed up her car while she put her boots and coat on, then I walked her down the icy drive, holding her hand in mine.

  “You’re not even wearing a coat,” she said, shivering as we carefully made our way toward the street. “You’ll freeze out here.”

  “I’m fine,” I told her, watching our breath hit the frigid air in warm white puffs. “But I am sick of this cold.”

  “Me too. The snow’s pretty and all, but enough is enough. I wish I could take a vacation.”

  “Me too,” I grumbled as we reached the car. “Somewhere hot and sunny.”

  “Yes! A beach with miles of white sand. Clear blue water. Tropical drinks with little umbrellas in them.”

  “Uh, no way am I drinking anything that comes with a fucking umbrella in it. But the beach sounds nice.” I pulled open the driver’s side door for her.

  “Doesn’t it?” She gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s do it. Let’s escape.”

  I laughed. “Sure. Somewhere between piano on Tuesdays, ballet on Thursdays, and the mother-daughter fashion show I’ve agreed to be in.”

  She burst out laughing. “What? I haven’t heard about that.”

  “Millie.” I shook my head. “She asked her mother and her mother said no, so I felt bad and offered to do it.”

  “When is it?”

  “The weekend after the wedding, I think.”

  “That’s so sweet of you.” She hesitated. “If you really don’t want to, I don’t mind doing it with her.”

  I grimaced. “You have no idea how tempted I am to say yes. But I promised her. I want her to know she’s got one parent she can depend on. That not everyone she loves will abandon her.”

  She rose up on tiptoe and kissed me again, one hand on my cheek. “You’re a good man, Declan MacAllister.”

  “I try.”

  “I’m off tomorrow. Need anything? Want me to stay with Winnie while you go get the other two? That way you don’t have to drag her out in this cold.”

  I shook my head. “You’ve done so much for me already this week. You deserve one day off, at least.”

  She got behind the wheel and smiled up at me. “My number is by the phone. You let me know.”

  “Thanks. ’Night.”

  “’Night.” She pulled the door shut, buckled her seatbelt, and pulled away, blowing me a kiss over her shoulder.

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I stood there in the frozen dark for a moment and watched her go, imagining the two of us alone in some tropical paradise. Lying on the sand. Kissing in the ocean. Walking along the beach in the moonlight. Endless nights in each other’s arms, our bodies hot and tangled up in cool sheets. Not a care in the world.

  Too bad it could never fucking happen.

  Frannie

  Mack called before I was even out of bed the next morning, and the number on the screen was his cell. “You found your phone,” I said, my voice low and gravelly.

  “It was in my car, beneath the driver’s seat.”

  “Good. How’s Winnie?”

  “She’s okay, pretty fucking crabby, but I don’t blame her.” He sighed. “I hate to ask you this, but she does not want to get in the car, and I have to pick up Millie and Felicity by noon.”

  “Say no more.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll take a quick shower and head over.”

  “You’re the best. Back door’s open.”

  When I arrived at Mack’s my hair was still damp. He met me in the kitchen and ruffled it. “Did you miss me this morning?”

  “Yes. I had to brush my own hair, and it was not nearly as nice.”

  He smiled. “I’m sorry for the rush. She’s in the living room watching cartoons. In about an hour, she can have another dose of Motrin. It’s right there on the counter, already measured out.”

  “Okay.”

  “If she’s hungry, she can have some lunch, but she had a tough time eating anything for breakfast.” He grabbed his coat from the back hall and slipped it on. “I should be back before two. Call if you need anything.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.” I reassured him with a smile. “I’ll fix her some soup or something.”

  “Thanks.” He gave me a grateful look and headed out.

  I spent the rest of the morning sitting on the couch with Winnie, trying to keep her mind off her poor stitched-up mouth. We watched Disney’s Sleeping Beauty and I told her I knew someone who had grown up near the castle.

  “Really?” Her eyes went wide. “It’s a real place?”

  I nodded, widening my eyes too. “Yes.”

  “Is the story real?” she wondered.

  “Definitely,” I said.

  “I want to marry a prince, don’t you?”

  I winked at her. “Definitely.”

  A little while later, I got her to take the Motrin but she refused to eat much more than a piece of bread with nothing on it. She did let me braid her hair, though, and she was asleep with her head on my lap when I heard Mack and the other two girls come in the back door.

  “How’s she doing?” Mack said, following Millie and Felicity into the living room.

  “She’s fine,” I whispered, putting a finger over my lips so the girls would stay quiet.

  Millie noticed her sister’s braids right away. “You said you’d teach me how to do Dutch braids in my hair, remember?”

  “I want braids too,” piped up Felicity.

  Millie rolled her eyes. “You don’t even have enough hair. And it’s all hacked up in the front.”

  Felicity started to cry, and Winnie woke up. Mack came over and helped her sit up, feeling her forehead.

  “I think you have enough hair for braids, Felicity,” I told her. “I can do it—they’ll just be short at the ends.”

  “Yay! Daddy, can Frannie stay a little?”

  “That’s up to Frannie,” he said. “If she wants to spend more time in this loony bin, I’m not gonna stop her.”

  I laughed. “I like this loony bin. I can stay a little longer.”

  When all three girls had Dutch braids in their hair, I gave them each a hug goodbye and went into the kitchen, where Mack was pouring a can of tomato soup into a bowl for Winnie.

  “Hey, I’m going to head out,” I told him. “Unless you need anything else.”

  “I’m good.”

  “What about this week? The usual schedule?”

  “Yeah. I can’t believe the weekend is over already.” Covering the top of the bowl with a plate, he stuck it in the microwave. “But I spoke with Mrs. Ingersoll on the ride to Petoskey, and it turns out the break wasn’t as bad as she thought. She’s in a cast, but her daughter can help with the driving and she can watch the girls this week.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Hell yes, it is. I’d have been fucked without her this week. And without you last week.” After setting the cook time for three minutes, he took out his wallet and placed forty dollars on the counter. “For everything extra you did, although it’s not enough.”

  I shoved it back toward him. “I don’t want your money, Mack.”

  “Please take it.” He met my eyes. “You spend so much of your time making my life easier, and I can’t give you more of my time.” He put his wallet away and pushed the bills toward me again. “Take it.”

  “No,” I said stubbornly. “We’re friends. And friends don’t pay each other for favors.” I headed for the back hall, where I put on my boots and zipped up my coat. I was about to put on my gloves and hat when Mack joined me by the door.

  “Hey,” he whispered, grabbing my arm.

  “Hey what?”

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, he suddenly pulled me close and slanted his mouth over mine. His tongue swept between my lips. His arms twined around me, his hands roaming over my body. For ten full seconds, he kissed me so deep
ly I was breathless and dizzy when he broke away.

  “We are not friends,” he said, his voice low and firm. He winked before backing out of the hall and calling the girls to lunch.

  In a daze, I made my way to the car, not even feeling the frozen sting of the air on my cheeks.

  Later I found the two twenties in my coat pocket and realized what Mack had been doing there at the door. I burst out laughing and stuffed them back in.

  Every Sunday evening, my mother made dinner for the family. My parents still lived in what we called “the old part of the house,” some of which had been taken over and renovated into rooms for the inn after us kids moved out. But they kept plenty of rooms for themselves, including their kitchen, dining room, library, and family room downstairs, and the master bedroom and bath, and a guest suite on the second floor.

  Occasionally one or both of my sisters wouldn’t make it, especially if they weren’t at the inn already. But tonight they were both there.

  Chloe cornered me in the dining room as we set the table. “So,” she whispered, glancing toward the kitchen. “Any news?”

  I couldn’t hide a smile as I placed a fork to the left of each plate. “I saw him last night. And again today.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Jeez. So it’s serious, huh?”

  “Today I was only watching the girls. Last night was more of a …” Then I stopped. What had it been? Not a date, really. “A romantic interlude.”

  Chloe snorted, setting a wine glass at each place. “What the hell is a romantic interlude? Does it involve sex?”

  “In this case, yes.” I paused, debating whether to go on, then thought fuck it. “In the kitchen.”

  Chloe stopped moving and blinked at me. “Seriously? Kitchen sex? I’m impressed.”

  “Shhhhh.” I glanced behind me to make sure Mom and April were still chattering away in the next room. “It was sort of spontaneous. Winnie was asleep upstairs.” I told her about the accident at their aunt’s house as I set the rest of the silverware out.

  “Oh my God, poor little thing,” she said, pulling a corkscrew from the sideboard’s top drawer. She worked the cork free from a bottle of wine. “Must be hard raising three girls all on his own.”

  “It is,” I confirmed. “He’s worried that he doesn’t have enough time for me. But I keep telling him I’m not needy. I just want to be with him.”

  “Be with who?” April breezed in carrying a platter of broiled salmon and set it on the table.

  Chloe and I exchanged a wide-eyed look. “Um,” I mumbled.

  April folded her arms and looked back and forth between the two of us. “Something is up with you two. Spill.”

  Twisting my fingers together at my waist, I leaned over and looked past April to make sure our mother was still busy in the kitchen, and she was, bickering with my dad over something. “Okay, if I tell you, you have to promise to keep it quiet.”

  “Of course. Tell me who he is!”

  I grinned. “Mack.”

  Her mouth fell open and then she looked at Chloe. “I knew it! I was right!

  “Shhhhh,” I hushed. “You were. But it’s very new and it’s kind of tricky because of all the circumstances. I don’t want Mom and Dad to know yet.”

  “Why not? I think it’s great.”

  “It feels great so far,” I said, my face getting warm. “But there are kids involved and—”

  “What’s this little powwow about?” my mother asked, carrying a bowl of green beans into the dining room.

  “Ryan and Stella’s wedding,” April said quickly. “Frannie is making macarons, and she was just telling me which flavors she’s going to make.”

  I gave her a grateful look. “I’m thinking chocolate, crème brulée, and red velvet.”

  “Perfect.” She gave me a wink and we all went into the kitchen to help bring out the food.

  About halfway through dinner, the subject of Ryan and Stella’s wedding came up again. While April listed some of the details for Chloe and my mom, my mind wandered a little. I imagined what it would be like to plan my own wedding, what colors I’d choose, how many guests I’d invite, what I’d wear. I’d never really thought about it in great detail before, but now I pictured an intimate outdoor ceremony beside the barn at Cloverleigh and saw myself drifting down the aisle on a gorgeous summer evening to the sounds of classical guitar. Waiting for me under the rustic arch overlooking the vineyard was Mack, and in front of me walked his three girls, strewing rose petals in my path. He looked gorgeous in a charcoal gray suit with a sapphire blue tie that matched his eyes, and when he saw me for the first time, he—

  “Frannie,” my mother said, as if it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get my attention. “What on earth are you doing? I’ve asked you three times to pass the potatoes.”

  “Oh! Sorry.” Flustered, I picked up the bowl of roasted potatoes and handed them to her. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”

  April smiled at me. “When I talked to Emme Pearson yesterday—that’s Stella’s sister, she’s a wedding planner in Detroit,” she explained to my parents, “she was raving about your macarons and hoping you’d open up your business to shipping downstate.”

  “That’s awesome,” Chloe said, kicking me under the table. “But you’d probably need your own space for that, right? A bigger kitchen and maybe a storefront somewhere?”

  I took a sip of wine for courage and was setting my glass down as my mother spoke up.

  “We’ve already settled this. I don’t think Frannie has the time or energy for that sort of thing,” she said. “She’s so busy here at the inn, plus being a nanny to Mack’s girls. That’s really all she can do. In fact, I think she could use more downtime.”

  “Well, I think we should let Frannie speak for herself,” said Chloe.

  “Actually,” I said, sitting up taller in my chair. “Starting my own business is something I would like to discuss.”

  “But you don’t know the first thing about it, and running a business is very stressful.” Mom gave Chloe a look like she should know better. “Stress is dangerous for Frannie. John, don’t you agree with me?”

  My father looked at me thoughtfully as he chewed and swallowed. “What sort of business?”

  “A macarons shop,” I said, nervously twisting my hands in my lap. “Something small and upscale.”

  “Frannie, your doctors have made it very clear that you need lots of rest and should avoid unnecessary risks to your heart,” my mother went on.

  “Mom, they meant risks like smoking and obesity.” I looked her in the eye and spoke confidently, so she’d see I wasn’t going to back down this time.

  “Stress is a risk factor,” she insisted, picking up her wine glass. “John, can you help me out here?”

  “Stress is a risk factor. I agree.” My dad wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Your mother and I aren’t saying we wouldn’t support you, we just want you to be safe and healthy.”

  “Frannie’s not a baby,” April said. “Why can’t she decide what’s safe and healthy for her? I think it’s a great idea. And what if the shop was on the Cloverleigh premises? You could invest in it!”

  “I don’t want it on the premises.” I shook my head. “I want my own thing in my own place. And I don’t need anyone else’s money to do it.”

  “Frannie, don’t be silly,” my mother admonished. “Where on earth would you get the money to open a business?”

  “It’s called a bank, Mom. I’d get a small business loan.”

  She waved a hand, dismissing me. “Enough. You’re not starting a business. You’ve got enough going on.”

  “Stop it! I’m not a child anymore.” At my heated tone, the entire table went still and silent. I lowered my voice—I wanted to sound calm and self-assured, not petulant and angry. “I’m an adult, and it’s time I started acting like one.”

  “What does that mean?” My mother looked a bit nervous now.

  “It means that maybe I need to move out and star
t supporting myself.” I hadn’t planned on threatening to move out, but I wanted them to know I was serious. If that’s what it took, I’d do it.

  “Move out!” she cried. “Why would you do that? You’d have to pay rent anywhere else.”

  “That’s the point. What other twenty-seven-year-old woman still lives with her parents?” I gestured to April and Chloe. “My sisters all left home and chased their own dreams. And even if those dreams brought them right back here, it was their choice. I want a choice.”

  “What if we charged you a fair rent?” suggested my dad.

  “John, you can’t be serious!” My mother looked at him in shock. “We’re not charging her rent.”

  “It’s better than seeing her move out,” he said reasonably.

  “Frannie,” my mother appealed to me, “you know I only worry about you because I love you so much.”

  “I know, Mom. But that love has become a little bit overbearing. I feel smothered and trapped by it. You’ve got to let go a little, okay? You’ve got to trust that I know how to take care of myself. I need some freedom to do my own thing, even if it’s a mistake. Even if I fail.”

  Unable to eat anymore, I stood up, my half-full plate in my hands. “I’m not doing this to hurt you, and I’m grateful for everything you do for me. I love it here. But I need more, and I need it on my own terms.” I turned to my father. “Thanks for the offer about the rent, Dad. I’ll give it some thought.”

  And with that, I walked into the kitchen on legs shaking with nerves and exhilaration, put my plate on the counter, and left through the back door.

  I hadn’t planned on making a declaration of independence at Sunday dinner, but I couldn’t help feeling damn good about it.

  Later that night, when I was dressed for bed and lying in the sheets I couldn’t bring myself to change because they still sort of smelled like him, I pulled out my phone so I could give him a hard time about those twenty-dollar bills he’d stuck in my pocket.

  Jerk.

  I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  Of course not. Because you’re so innocent. With your filthy mouth.