Page 47 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

It’s absurd, but every time I look at Leonie’s eyes, like right now, it’s like my own are staring back at me.

She pronounces the mixture on the stoveboo yoh layand explains it’s similar to custard. Honey flits around like this is her kitchen. If I squint, I can imagine us—a happy family with the wooden screen door flapping open and shut as kids run in and out.

I jolt. Leonie grabs my thumb, squeezes, and juts her legs out before one of her socks flies off. Honey picks it up and stuffs it over my thumb.

I meet her gaze and we both laugh.

“Whoops. Sorry. That was Mom Brain. I must not have slept as well as I thought.”

“After we eat, I’ll go check on the power lines. Do you have the electric company’s app? They should be able to tell you when to expect power to be restored.”

Honey sets two bowls on the table. “I have a flip phone, so no.”

“Is that by choice? Are you a Luddite?”

We talk about people who eschew modern technology for the most part. I learn that her older model device isn’t by choice. And yet, she has a Porsche and used to spend time here at the chateau.

I steal a glance at her eyes as she dips into the custard boo stuff. There are secrets there, that’s for sure.

After a second cup of coffee and a shower, I drive to Honey’s house and return with bad news ... the kind I don’t want to deliver when she meets me with a bright smile as if happy to see me.

“You’ve made some real progress here,” she whispers. Leonie must be down for her morning nap.

“I have a lot more to go, which brings me to the question I’ve been wanting to ask.”

“I have a question for you, too. When I was making breakfast, I found an old cookbook.” She strides toward the kitchen to show me.

The frayed red linen hardcover features the wordsCookbookwith a basket of apples in the center. Inside, three gold rings bind the brittle pages.

Honey asks, “Do you mind if I borrow it?”

“You can have it ... but this brings me to my question. You can have it only if you live here.”

She blinks a few times as if not believing her ears, as if I’d finally conceded and called a flapjack a pancake.

Then I say, “Because I have bad news.”

Her face crumbles as if she knows the tree went through the roof.

And I want nothing more than to be this woman’s shelter in the storm.

Chapter 11

A Mental Health Day

Do I regret spending the day upstairs in the master bedroom pouting like a princess who didn’t get her way? Only slightly.

I wonder how many blows I can take. This one is massive. Turns out my roof can only take one per season. The weight of the telephone pole and the tree couldn’t support it and everything crashed into my house as the rain and wind pummeled it overnight.

But that’s not the worst of it. Maddock Witt thinks he can just waltz into this town and take over. Well, technically, he can since he owns it. But he has no claim to my heart ... or my lips. It’s not like I think about kissing him. Much.

It makes me feel all twitchy inside like a lovesick teenager. I tug the pillow over my chest and hug it. Where did that notion even come from?

The flaming windstorm between us has to stop. Things need to go back to exactly how they were before he nearly crashed into my Porsche, and that’s final.

Tomorrow, I have to return to reality ... However, right now, Leonie’s tootsies are looking particularly adorable and perfect for a game of Piggy, so can you blame me for snuggling with my baby and generally wallowing while the beast of a man downstairs repeatedly comes to my aid?

Thankfully, the restaurant is okay. But I’m not. The emotional weight of my memories in this chateau press against me. I refuse to revisit that time in my life.

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