Page 33 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

I can practically see the Klatch fuming from here. “Sounds to me like you’re not going to get pancakes today.”

He pumps his hands. “Are you this sassy because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed or is it because you haven’t yet had coffee?”

Despite my threat, I can’t afford to turn away business. I shoot him a sharp glare and expect one in return. Instead, he wears a smirky, smoldery smile as if he’s figuring out what makes me tick.

Relenting, I say, “Will you help me?”

His eyebrow arches and his eyes dart from the Coffee Loft down the street to my house.

“I mean with the baby.” The request comes out of desperation with Leonie having already pulled the pin on her itty bitty baby grenade and the Klatch being a reliable source of a daily twenty dollars.

We already had a falling out once over me being too headstrong and stubborn for my own good. Mrs. Daley more or less made things right. I’m on thin ice as it is with the Klatch.

Maddock’s eyes widen. “You want my help? What’s the magic word?”

“Never mind.”

Leonie doesn’t like this and starts wailing. Forgetting about Maddock, I coo and coddle her until she decommissions the nuclear event.

He slowly backs away. Good. I don’t need his help. But as the sun reflects off the Porsche, I’m reminded that I really, really do.

Turning around, I call, “Please, will you help me?”

He halts, hand on the door of the truck. His eyes land on me and with the way the early morning sun glows, I almost trick myself into thinking they spark.

“Can you please push the stroller to the restaurant?”

He straightens. “Uh. Yeah. No. Probably not. I’m not equipped.”

“It’s right there.” I point.

“Looks like you have a line forming at the front door already.”

I continue to gently rock Leonie in the carriage. “Exactly. You have long legs. It’ll take you two minutes tops to get there.”

“What if she starts crying again?” He steps closer, gazing at the baby as if assessing a digital clock counting down to detonation.

“I’ll be there waiting for you,” I assure him.

“I take it you’re going to drive over there?” He eyes the Porsche.

“Yes. I have a bunch of stuff to bring. That way, I can open, pour the Klatch their sweet tea, and get everything set up for her. So will you?” Desperate now, I tip my head toward the carriage.

“How about I drive,” he says.

“Um, my vehicle isn’t exactly street-legal.” I cough-whisper the last part.

He raises an eyebrow. “I see.”

“You neither saw nor heard anything.”

He lets out a long breath as if resigning himself to helping me.

The sun dapples the top of the stroller and I pull the little shade up so it doesn’t get in her eyes. This brings with it a cascade of dangling toys and she lets out a happy coo.

“She’s content. Will you please push her there?”

Maddock pockets his keys, looks around as if checking to make sure no one is about to witness this, and rolls his fingers as he grips the stroller’s handlebar.

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