Page 15 of Firefly Effect

LINCOLN

Join the five o’clock club, they said. You’ll be wealthy, they said. You’ll run the world, they said.

What a joke.

While waking at this insane hour of the morning used to be inspired by my drive to earn my degree at the fastest rate possible, it’s now an essential part of my life if I have any hope of getting shit done. I’ve quickly learned that any type of productivity goes out the window the moment Lucy’s feet hit the floor each morning. That’s when daddy duties begin, then work priorities take over, and after all that, I’m too exhausted in the evenings to do anything but eat dinner and cuddle up with Lucy to watch one of her favorite shows.

As soon as my head lifts from the pillow that Monday morning, I slip into my den to beat on my keyboard, filling the Word document with all the inspiration I’ve been acquiring since moving here.

Once my alarm goes off, I gather laundry baskets and start the wash, then I clean the kitchen from the mess I was too tired to clean the night before, check work emails, and pay bills. Then I’m finally ready to dress for my morning run.

Now this, I actually enjoy. I start at a slow pace, beginning to create my mental checklist as I go.

? Shower and get dressed

? Wake and dress Lucy

? Make breakfast

? Pack Lucy’s daycare bag

? Drop Lucy off downtown

? Grab dry cleaning

? Run by post office

? Coffee and donuts for the office

? Client appointments

Before I realize it, I’m on my fifth and final mile, and sweat has completely drenched my shirt. With a quick tug, I yank it from my body and tuck it into the waistband of my black shorts. As soon as I’m back in the house, I head straight to the kitchen and down a large glass of water then pour another. One might think I would be used to humid summer mornings after a lifetime spent in North Carolina, but that will never happen.

There’s a knock at the front door, and before I can run through the list of possible visitors, Francine is opening the door.

“Evie,” she says, “thank you for coming.”

I freeze, water glass still cold against my lips as my eyes catch on my fill-in landlord. Her hair is curled with half twisted up into a thick bun and loose pieces framing her heart-shaped face. She’s wearing another mid-length skirt slit to the thigh, this one burgundy. Again, she’s sporting another vintage black T-shirt, but this one appears to be a couple inches shorter than the others.

She’s beautiful—phenomenally so—and in the simplest of ways. Her hard-shelled demeanor only adds a level of mystery, reminding me of all the parts of her I still don’t know.

“It’s no problem,” Evie says. “The furnace will only take a minute to fix.”

I completely forgot Evie said she would be over in the morning to help Francine in the guesthouse. But Francine should have mentioned the time. Maybe then I would have been prepared to deal with my unfiltered thoughts.

Francine steps back. “Come inside, please.”

Evie takes a step into the foyer at the same time her eyes find mine—or, rather, my bare chest. I’m not sure even she knows she’s doing it, but her gaze glides over every inch of me before finally flickering to meet my gaze.

Her cheeks darken when she realizes she’s been caught staring.

I’m no better. I don’t know why words are failing me so miserably, but we don’t exchange a single word before Francine leads Evie out the back door of the main house. I watch as they follow the stone trail to the small guest cottage that gives Francine her own space and makes this house perfect to rent from Patrick.

Once they disappear inside the cottage, I rush to the master bathroom to shower. I’m already off schedule, and Lucy will be waking up soon.

As if on cue, as soon as I’m dried and dressed, I hear the pitter-patter of little feet in the hallway. I swing open my door and scoop up Lucy, smiling back at my sleepy-eyed, pouty-faced little girl. “Morning, sunshine.” I plant a kiss on her cheek, which earns me a grumpy groan.

Chuckling, I carry Lucy back into my bathroom while I finish getting ready. After setting her on the counter, I apply deodorant and trim my beard just enough to keep it tidy. I don’t mess with my hair, other than to smear in some gel and rough it up a bit. Lucy reaches her hands up, her fingers apparently itching to do the same to my hair. I laugh and lean down so she can slide her fingers in there.

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