by Ellie Hall
“Oh,” she said. It must’ve been her catchphrase. He didn’t mind the cute shape her full lips formed when she said it either.
“Well, in that case, please, have a seat at your table. The place was still furnished when I moved in. Some of it needs to be updated.” She busied herself with a bowl at the counter and then dashed to the sink, wet a paper towel, and scrubbed her face.
“I’d say most of it could use replacement. My mother had a particular taste.” He wrinkled his nose, recalling her constant admonishments. “Don’t sit on the sofa wearing those dirty pants. Don’t play with the ball in the house. Fingers off. Francine just polished.” Francine was the housekeeper. She’d let the boys jump on their beds before she removed them on wash day. They never told their mother.
“I was thinking the former resident had a peculiar affinity for late seventeenth-century baroque furniture.” She mixed something in a bowl.
“Not exactly befitting an old farmhouse filled with five boys.” His father joked that his mother had what he called champagne taste. Fortunately for her, he also had the budget to afford it all.
“I’d say not. So you grew up here and had brothers?”
The tightness in his chest from earlier had moved up to this throat. He nodded.
She turned and popped the cinnamon rolls out of the pan and drizzled them with a glaze. The old grandfather clock ticked loudly from the sitting room, filling the silence.
He cleared his throat. “Smells good,” he said, realizing he was repeating himself. Typically, Owen Hawkins wasn’t a man known for his great conversational skills. A woman he’d dated before Nadine had described him as the strong, silent type.
“They taste even better. Would you like one?” she asked.
“I don’t think I could say no.”
She sat across from him at the table, brought a pumpkin cinnamon roll to her lips, and took a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her expression turned into bliss. He found himself staring, practically drooling, but not over the roll. It was her. She was so arrestingly beautiful even in her messy state.
He took a bite and was sure he wore an identical expression. His eyes closed, but behind his lids instead of seeing pumpkin-sugar-cinnamon perfection, he saw her. “This is delicious,” he said as he hurriedly opened his eyes again.
She quickly looked away. Maybe her version of bliss wasn’t all that different. Perhaps she recognized the expression on his face.
“I bet it must have been great growing up here,” she said.
At that reminder and everything that had happened since he landed back in reality where admiring a beautiful woman wasn’t an option. He shouldn’t have even been sitting at her table, yet he couldn’t get up. It wasn’t the past that was magnetizing him to the spot. It was her. He’d give himself the length of time to finish the cinnamon roll and then leave. Forget the whole thing. He was good at that.
“Yeah, figured I’d check it out and see how it held up after all these years.”
“At night?” she asked.
“I work the late shift and since I just moved back to town, I’ve been busy. Plus with Harper and all.”
“Oh, I bet she’d love to see where you grew up.”
He was about to launch into all the reasons that wasn’t going to happen when she got up, found a container and placed two cinnamon rolls inside. “I’m new to town and haven’t had anyone come out here. Least of all on Halloween. You startled me.”
“My apologies. It’s always been quiet out here. Well, not too often when I was growing up. Though Tripp, my oldest brother, would terrify all us boys with ghost stories.” He held up his hands. “I promise, the place is not haunted. The official Hawk Ridge Hollow ghost exterminators made sure of that.” He smirked, remembering his father and a couple of his friends pretending to be Ghostbusters after the boys slept on the floor of their parents' room for the fifth night in a row. Charles Hawkins made a big show of scaring off any phantoms.
“You just moved back. Why didn’t you move into this house? It was for rent up until last week.”
She couldn’t have known how tough it was for him even to turn into the driveway, never mind enter the house. Although, she made it easier. Softened the blow that somehow managed to nail him in the gut, even from the past.
“Do you want to have a look around? I’m sure you’ll recognize—”
“No, I should get back.” He stood and put his hat on.
She followed him to the door and passed him the container with the cinnamon rolls. “For you and Harper.”
She was adorable. He imagined if they’d met when he’d still lived in the farmhouse, he’d have asked her on a date if one of his brother’s didn’t beat him to it.
But that was then. Presently, he wasn’t in the market to have a relationship. Nonetheless, he asked, “Is it Mrs. or Ms. Powell?”
A shadow crossed her eyes that had nothing to do with the half-busted light overhead. She opened and closed her mouth. “Ms. I’m Ms. Powell.” Then her expression brightened, though it almost seemed forced. “But you can call me Brynn.”
He shouldn’t have asked.
He should keep his distance.
Chapter 3
Brynn
Brynn leaned against the wall as the cruiser slowly disappeared down the long driveway. Owen Hawkins was a cop? A handsome and kind cop without a ring on his finger? No. No way. She didn’t need another hero.
After cleaning up the kitchen, she locked up and went upstairs. In the hall, she picked up the framed photo of her late husband, also in uniform. Same blue. Polished silver. She vowed never to get involved with an officer. It was too risky. She needed to find herself an accountant. Surely, no one was ever killed by a calculator or while generating profit and loss statements. Maybe a dietician would work. They could be healthy together. Then again, he probably wouldn’t approve of her cinnamon rolls. She set the frame holding John’s photo down.
After losing him, she’d gone to counseling for several years before moving to Hawk Ridge Hollow. Before her last session, the therapist broached the topic of dating. Sharon suggested she get out there and try meeting some new people.
A friend set her up with a double date to start. It didn’t work out. He smelled like onions and had dirty hair. She tried again with another police officer on a friend’s instance, but he was a bit boring and only talked about work, reminding her of John. There wasn’t a spark there. More like a flashing light, signaling warning, warning, warning. Another friend thought they’d found the perfect guy for her. He was a philanthropist who brought fresh water to rural parts of the world. However, he was overseas most of the time. Anyway, she wasn’t looking for perfect.
She’d already found him and he was gone. She couldn’t imagine anyone filling John’s shoes. She still had a pair of them in a box along with his uniform and several other mementos. She’d sold most of their things, along with the house, before she made the move. She couldn’t stay there any longer with all the memories. It was a constant battle between what they’d had and the joy it brought her, and how it was gone and the devastation she was left with. It got to the point that even the potholders brought memories and accompanying tears.
In the end, Sharon, the therapist, advised her to consider moving on, starting over. She looked for jobs and found one in Hawk Ridge Hollow. She fell in love with the town, but the problem was finding a place to live. Because of the world-class resort, there weren’t too many reasonably priced homes and the condos were astronomical. While browsing the flyers in the local market, hoping to find a rental or someone in need of a roommate, she met Sadie who was posting a flyer for her friend’s yoga class.
Strange that it was the same house Owen Hawkins had grown up in. She didn’t believe in coincidences. She straightened. Did that mean Sadie was married to a Hawkins brother? She’d said something about it being her husband’s family home and Owen had said he had four brothers.
She suddenly felt foolish. The Hawkins family practic
ally owned Hawk Ridge Hollow—the resort at least. She didn’t know much more about them than that, but the last name had a certain prestige, respect. She didn’t imagine any of them needed to work—no less as a police officer. From what she’d gathered, she imagined the Hawkins family in an ivory tower somewhere, safe from harm, counting their gold coins.
She shook her head. No, that was her old way of thinking—being resentful of people with money when she’d grown up with none. She was taught that money was bad but had learned it was merely a form of energy. A way to exchange time and effort spent. John had helped her understand that. She’d learned so much from him, especially how to love, but after losing him her heart was closed off.
As she went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, a door slammed down the hall. She practically jumped out of her skin. She flipped on every light.
“If there’s a ghost in here, I’ll call the Hawk Ridge Hollow Ghost Exterminators.” As soon as the warning was out of her mouth, she knew how foolish she sounded. Of course, Owen’s father had been trying to comfort his sons.
She needed some comfort. Her hand hovered over the Lucite doorknob to the door that had slammed. She took a deep breath. There was no such thing as ghosts. Outside the wind-whipped, rattling the windowpanes. Turning the knob, she opened the door. A draft of cool air met the warmth from the hallway, sending goosebumps scattering across her arms.
She turned on the light. A bunkbed lined one wall and matching desks were under each of the two windows. Blue drapes billowed. Definitely a boys room. One of the windows was open a crack and somewhat crooked in the window frame.
Brynn managed to get it to shut and then closed the door behind her. Once in the bathroom, her heart thundered in her chest for the second time that night. The first was when Owen had stopped over and it wasn’t because he’d startled her. No, it was watching his expression as he ate the pumpkin cinnamon roll. If it was anything like her vision when she’d done the same then it was pure bliss—he filled her vision even with her eyes closed. His warm brown eyes, strong jaw, the low rumble of his voice and his skin, still tan from summer.
Her husband had been a cop. Owen was a cop. She vowed never to get involved, never to date a man in uniform again and quickly cast the thoughts of him away.
She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Drywall dust and flour. Great first impression. No, second. The first was when she fell flat on her butt.
She hadn’t intended to start sanding the walls after removing the wallpaper, but then she couldn’t resist tackling the tile while the cinnamon rolls were baking.
After she showered and put on a clean pair of pajamas, she dropped to her knees next to her bed.
She said her nightly prayer for her departed husband, praying he was at peace. She prayed for justice and peace for the person who killed him. It had been almost five years. Yet she said the same words every night. She’d stopped praying for a family of her own, knowing that she’d missed her chance. But that night she added something for herself. She prayed that she’d stay away from Owen Hawkins.
As she drifted off, she had the peculiar thought, the memory of something one of her foster parents once told her. God’s plans will prevail. She had faith that was true despite what she wanted or didn’t want.
The next morning, Brynn brought several of the pumpkin cinnamon rolls into the teacher’s lounge before the beginning of the day. Phoebe waltzed in, looking exhausted.
“Rough night?”
“I had people ringing my doorbell until after ten p.m., saying, ‘Trick-or-treat.’ I was about ready to tell them to smell my feet.”
Brynn stuck out her tongue, recalling the childhood rhyme that the kids had been saying in her classroom. “Did you turn off your porch light? When I was growing up that was the signal that the house was closed for business.”
“Good point. Did you get any trick-or-treaters out your way?”
“No, but speaking of porch lights, a certain police officer paid me a visit. Actually, let me rephrase that. He was visiting his old house.”
“What? Explain,” Phoebe demanded.
Brynn went on to tell the story, complete with the near encounter with a ghost after Owen had left.
“Spooky, but also awesome.” She could hardly contain her excitement.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was a cop?”
Phoebe shrugged. “I didn’t know you needed a full profile. Figured you’d find out soon enough. I also didn’t tell you that he loves dogs, long walks on the beach, and, oh, this pumpkin cinnamon roll is delicious,” she said, interrupting herself and taking another bite.
Brynn realized she hadn’t yet told her new friend about John, but she wondered if everything Phoebe had said about Owen was true. She promised herself she wouldn’t find out because she also loved dogs and long walks on the beach.
“He seems like the strong, silent type. A contradiction because he’s sweet with daughter and good with the kids.”
“How do you know he’s good with kids?”
“He was horsing around with Harper on the playground before the bell rang this morning. A bunch of other kids went outside. He was like a human jungle gym.”
Handsome, kind, and great with kids? So not happening.
Around another bite of the cinnamon roll, Phoebe said, “He’s like a grizzly and a teddy bear at the same time. They battle within him.” She laughed. “You know, you could use the teddy bear version in the classroom. You have been asking for a room parent and no one has volunteered.”
“Hmm,” she said absently. Phoebe had a good point.
The second bell rang, indicating the day would soon begin.
As parents, caregivers, and children parted with hugs and secret handshakes, Brynn scanned the crowd for Owen but didn’t see him. Instead, Harper stood on the sidewalk, looking slightly lost.
Brynn crossed to where she stood and said good morning. Harper didn’t leave her side for the rest of the day. She knew it was common for kids to have a bit of separation anxiety, especially in a new town and at a new school. She wasn’t sure about the situation with Harper’s mother but knew usually making a friend helped ease the transition.
She did her best to pair her with Daisy and a few other girls, hoping one would click. But Harper found her way back to Brynn’s side. She imagined it would iron itself out after a few days.
She was in teacher mode and had to concentrate on not letting thoughts of Owen into her mind anytime she thought of the girl’s dad. She had questions. Did he like dogs? Long walks on the beach? Did he make Harper waffles or pancakes? What did they do during the summer? What was their family life like?
The questions persisted until the end of the day. Did he make sure she took vitamins? Drink water? Make her bed? She felt faintly like the way Daisy described her mother and shook it off just in time for pick up. She was on duty outside, making sure everyone made it to their car or bus line safely. A big blue truck rumbled to the curb.
“Daddy,” Harper called, rushing toward it. She hardly reached the bottom of the truck’s door.
Owen was out and rounded to the passenger side, scooping her up. “How was your day butter bean?” he asked.
She squished up her face. “You don’t like butter beans.”
“But I love you.”
That must’ve been a little endearing thing they did because then they nuzzled noses.
A sharp pain roared through Brynn’s chest.
Owen hoisted Harper into the truck and she buckled up.
“Big wheels for a little girl,” Brynn said.
“Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out this dad stuff still and I’m not really a minivan kind of guy.” His lips quirked.
She wondered just what kind of guy he was. Currently, he was a bit different than the pensive, gloomy one who’d visited the farmhouse the night before. It had been like he was haunted by ghosts of the past.
“Well, whatever kind of guy you are, as the parent of a Hawk Ridge Hollow El
ementary School student, you’re to remain in your vehicle at pick up.”
“Is that so, Officer Powell? Are you the parking police?”
She almost sensed amusement in his tone.
“Daddy, you told me her name is Brynn. Ms. Brynn. I mean, Ms. Powell.”
Brynn’s eyebrow lifted. Had he been talking about her?
“She kept calling you Mrs. Powell so I wanted to be sure that she had the correct—”
Harper shook her head quickly, ruffling her hair. “Nuh-uh. You said that if I felt lonely today that I should stick by Brynn then you corrected yourself and said Ms. Powell then you said it’s because she’s the kind of person that can make you feel happy and whole.”
Brynn inclined her head, hardly believing her ears.
Owen’s ears turned the faintest shade of pink—but nothing like that dreadful wallpaper.
“Is that so?” Brynn asked.
“I asked how he knew and he said that he just did. He said sometimes you just know about people.” Harper nodded her head matter of fact.
Owen leaned into Brynn. “She was nervous about her first day.”
“I wasn’t nervous, Daddy. I just missed you. But you were right. Ms. Brynn does have that unicorn feeling.”
“Unicorn feeling?” Brynn asked.
“Oh, yes. Do you want me to show you? I can be a unicorn too. Daisy and I were comparing unicorns today because,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “we’re part unicorn—”
Owen turned to the truck. “You can show her tomorrow. We’re holding up the line.” He closed the door to the truck.
“Actually, maybe you could both show me tomorrow,” Brynn said, seizing the opportunity.
“I need a room parent in the afternoon. It doesn’t have to be every day, but we’re really short-staffed, none of the other parents have stepped up to the plate. As a police officer, you’ve already had a background check so you could get started right away.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t really have experience with kids.”
“You’re a father and according to one of my colleagues, a great human jungle gym.”