Page 35 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“Running away is more like it. He might be afraid of babies. Or allergic. I didn’t ask.”

Antoine chuckles and takes Leonie, bouncing her. The guy has five kids, which includes a set of twins, so I don’t give him the baby safety spiel.

His two-minute morning greeting with her affords me time to get all of Leonie’s gear from the car. I’m panting and out of breath all morning, but the rest of the day is me rotating her from my arms to the various hand-me-down bouncers, saucers, and baby activity centers I’ve set up behind the counter, making it so I have to pass through an obstacle course when Mr. Soto comes in for his afternoon milkshake.

By the time Antoine shuts off the grill and says goodbye, I contemplate spending the night right here. My feet ache, my hair frizzes, and I’m frazzled, but the baby is as animated as ever.

At least she’s not crying.

“We made it.” I rub my dry eyes. “Survived the day.”

Then the door jingles. I forgot to lock it and turn off the bright overhead lights and flip over theOpensign. Maybe I can fire up the restaurant in my sleep, but not shut it down for the day ... at least not while looking after a baby.

“We’re closed,” I call.

Footsteps approach.

I pop up and nearly collide with Maddock who’s peering over the counter.

He’s tall, but so am I. Still, I have to lift my gaze to meet his eyes. It’s like he wishes he could tower over me. Maddock is the kind of guy who’s used to being in charge and having women tripping over him.

Well, not this woman. Instead, I’m flipping and flapping over him, which I still can’t quite explain, but the twitchiness inside just won’t quit.

Chapter 8

Dinner for Deux

Babies freak me out. Terrify me. They’re loud but fragile. Demanding yet can’t explain what they want. Plus, they leak snot and pee and poop and ooze mysterious stickiness.

Not having kids was one thing my ex and I agreed on. For my part, mostly because I was told I probably wouldn’t be able to.

Compared to Honey who is self-sufficient, Emberly was needy, loud, and secretive given the fact that I had no idea she was the heiress of a town.

I tell myself to ignore the flames inside when I think about Honey or when I’m around her. I just barely got out of a marriage alive.

But maybe I want her to want me a little. Perhaps I like that she asked for my help this morning.

I don’t know how I survived pushing the infant in a stroller to the restaurant. At least it wasn’t raining. Right now, the drizzle is light, but the winds are heavy. Earlier, I saw on the forecast there’s a storm in the Gulf, but the meteorologists predict it’ll blow itself out before it gets here.

The work on the chateau today built up an appetite. Specifically, a hankering for flapjacks ... and maybe seeing Honey again. She occupies my thoughts when she shouldn’t. Her honeysuckle scent fills the air even though I’ve been working in the moldering chateau all day.

Here I am, doing the opposite of what I promised myself. Not doing what I usually do. Feeling how I usually feel. Should feel.

Honey said she’s single. I can’t imagine her being a single mom, because only a loser would leave her and she doesn’t seem the type to tolerate losers. I figured she must’ve been babysitting and mixed up the schedule or was helping someone out in a pinch. But maybe I was wrong.

A few loose strands of her wildflower honey-blonde hair hang in her face. She blows them out of the way and unties her apron. “We’re closed.”

“You’re here.”

“I’m cleaning up.”

“Looks like you’re playing with the baby.”

“How could I not? She’s adorable.” Honey glances at the little one with affection in her eyes.

“I’m hungry.”

“You’ve been filling up on beignets.” She narrows her eyes at me as if I committed treachery.

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