Page 49 of Forbidden Flame

“Thank you so much for teaching her to ride,” I said when he put the bike back in the bed of his truck.

“I’m hungry,” Izzy said with a hand on her stomach.

“We can get something to eat at home,” I said checking the time on my phone.

“I don’t mind slapping a sandwich together for her.”

“You’ve gone through enough trouble for us,” I said.

Izzy held her hands together in front of her face. “Please, Mommy. I’m starving.”

“Okay, but then we need to go home. I have a few people picking up pies today.”

“You should start a delivery service so you can control when the pies go out, and you don’t have people stopping by the farm to pick them up.”

“My brothers would prefer that. So far I don’t have large enough orders to offer that service.”

The last time I was here I hadn’t noticed how spacious the cabin was with large windows facing the trees on the back of the property. “This is beautiful.”

“I’m just a temporary guest,” Cole said as he moved around the kitchen, gathering lunch meat and rolls from the fridge.

“Would the Monroes allow you to build on the property?” I asked him.

“I’ve never asked.”

I got the impression he felt like an outsider. I wondered how much of that was his doing or his reality.

“What do you like on your sandwich, Izzy? Cheese, pickles, and mustard?” Cole lifted his head to meet her gaze.

My chest tightened. I had imagined what it would be like if Izzy had a father in her life, but I hadn’t expected it to hit me this hard.

Izzy shook her head. “Just turkey.”

Cole’s forehead wrinkled. “Really?”

I smiled at him. “That’s what she likes. A plain turkey sub.”

“We need to get you to be more adventurous with food. I like mustard on mine.”

Izzy’s nose scrunched up. “Most kids don’t like mustard.”

“I suppose it’s an acquired taste,” Cole said to her seriously, and I couldn’t stop my lips from twitching in amusement.

He placed the meat in her sandwich, cut it in half, then pushed the plate toward her. “Do you want orange juice or milk? I don’t have juice boxes here.”

“Orange juice,” Izzy said as I helped her onto the high stool at the counter.

Cole poured the juice into a glass and placed it in front of her.

“What do you say, Izzy?” I prompted her.

“Thank you, Mr. Cole.”

“If it’s okay with your mother, you can just call me Cole. Mister makes me feel old.” Then Cole shuddered as if it was distasteful.

Izzy giggled.

“Whatever you want,” I said to him, my mind running rampant with how Daddy would sound on her lips. I needed to get a grip. Izzy had a father, and he wanted nothing to do with her.

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