Page 37 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

She is already boxing it up.

“Actually, can you make it a double portion?”

“Magic word?”

The corner of my mouth tugs with a smile, recalling our exchange this morning. “Please.” I hesitate, then add, “Will you join me?”

“For what?”

“Dinner?”

Her hands flap and she drops the lid to the takeout container. “Me?”

The baby fusses, goes quiet, then turns red before a rumble comes from behind the counter.

Honey’s eyes widen.

The baby wails.

Flustered, she turns in a circle.

I’m equipped to deal with advancing hose lines, navigating smoky environments, and handling hazardous materials. I’ve rescued cats from trees and used the jaws of life more times than I’d like. But I’m not sure how to save Honey from this situation.

Looking like she’s running on empty, she starts to remove the baby from the complicated safety straps in the little seat with bells, whistles, and all kinds of gadgets, but her hands shake.

When she said she rarely sits down to eat, I think I now understand why ... and have my doubts she’s consumed much of anything today.

If only I had on my protective gear. All the same, I run into the flames of Honey’s life.

I carefully unlatch the harness clips. The baby’s little fingers wrap around my thumb as she kicks wildly with only one sock on.

“Maddock, I got—” Honey starts.

But the little one is already snug in my arms and goes quiet. Her hands are now in fists and her eyes are screwed shut, but she’s calmer.

“Magic word, magic touch. I’ve got it all.”

Honey lifts her arm to playfully swat me but must be too tired.

“Come on. We’ll go over to the house and have something to eat.” My nose twitches and my appetite disappears as a foul odor wafts ...

Her lip teases a knowing smile. “You sure you got it?”

“Maybe I’ll leave diaper duty to you.” Holding the baby away from me, her feet kick while she chews on her hand.

Honey expertly takes Leonie into her arms and they disappear down the hallway to the bathroom. The faint sound of singing filters toward me.

My mother wasn’t a singer, but she did hum. Strange to think that the Witt line ends with me. I don’t have siblings and I probably won’t ever have kids—if the doctors’ warnings were on target, I probably can’t.

Honey returns with a clean and quiet Leonie. They both look exhausted. The latter from the tough life of a baby, what with the eating, sleeping, and constant attention from being so demandingly adorable. And the former, well, from trying to look after said baby while running a restaurant.

Despite Honey’s sassiness, there’s something undeniably admirable about her taking care of Leonie with so much love and dedication. Her life isn’t just her own and I don’t think that kind of humility, purpose, and sense of duty can come from anything other than parenthood.

It makes her glow in a way that I can’t quite explain.

Plus, she looks really great in that skirt.

But while she’s taking care of the baby, who’s taking care of her? I want Honey to eat theboo danand potato salad while seated. Thankfully, I have a table—a huge one.

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