Page 46 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

She barks a laugh and then claps her hand over her mouth before whispering, “That saying is a lie! All lies! Babies are the worst sleepers on the planet. The saying should beI’m going to sleep like a lumberjack who’s been chopping wood all day. That would knock someone out cold.”

“Or a firefighter that’s on the last leg of his shift ...”

She nods and taps the air. “Precisely.”

Or a firefighter on paid leave who has to repeatedly fight a blaze in his mind, in his heart, in his hands. I shove them in my pockets because right now I have the urge to slide myarm around Honey’s shoulders as we watch the baby peacefully slumber.

My breath shakes when I exhale. “Well, I’ll say goodnight. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Actually, in my hurry, I, um, didn’t, um, pajamas?—”

She doesn’t finish before the words are out of my mouth. “Do you want another T-shirt?”

Honey bites her lip and nods. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll get your other one back to you, too.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “Not to worry. I have loads.”

Her gaze flickers. Something crackles between us and it’s not from the lightning or thunder outside.

I’d like to say I sleep soundly, but the wind whips against the old windowpanes, and my thoughts whirl in a torrent of blue eyes and the way Leonie seems to fill up a part of my heart I didn’t realize was empty. How Honey could very well hold that same heart in her hands if I let her. And what the future might look like—I didn’t think I’d still be in Hogwash no less considering staying here.

The next morning, gray light pierces my eyelids and a babbling sound along with a soft clacking comes from the kitchen.

I sniff the air as the storm last night comes back. I’d heard the crack of the transformer above the wind and instinct had me rushing out to the main road. The Hogwash volunteer fire department was already on the scene and evaluating the situation. Having dealt with countless instances of the very same thing out west, I jumped into the zone—well, not literally with the downed wires—and took charge.

I hope that Honey’s house held up. She’s as strong as she is sweet—the woman, not the single wide. But she’s also proud. That house means a lot to her, and I imagine it would be a big blow, and not just financially, if there’s damage.

After a yawn and a stretch, I get up and wander to the kitchen. “Good morning.”

Honey, with Leonie on her hip, turns from the stovetop. “Morning. You didn’t have ingredients for pancakes, otherwise I would’ve made them on account of your hospitality.”

“You seem refreshed.”

She fights a grin. “Leonie slept through the night, which means I did too. The first on record.”

“Yesterday must’ve tuckered you both out.”

“Yeah. Also, that bed is super comfortable.”

“Half the week I spend at the firehouse, sleeping on a bunk so my reasoning was to invest in a good mattress. I special ordered the same one I have back home.”

“The chateau hasn’t looked this good in well over a decade.”

I pick up on this and add it to a reference she made a while ago. “Did you used to spend time here?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to stay?”

She shifts from foot to foot, then sets Leonie in her little vibrating seat with the light-up toys. “Not exactly.”

Leonie fusses so I pick her up and she settles right down, babbling again.

Honey huffs like she’s annoyed that I have the magic touch. “So what are you making instead of flapjacks?”

“Bouillie au lait.”

“More boo? I assure you the chateau isn’t haunted.” Except maybe by the ghosts of the past, I understand that all too well ... or maybe the ghosts of what’ll never be.

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