Page 54 of Quintessentially

I’m floating on air as I get back in my car. My phone pings, and the screen on the dashboard tells me I have a text message from my assistant, Gena. I hit the button allowing the car to read it to me.

“Mr. Miller wants the brief for the Swanson case, yesterday.”

Shit.

My mind has not been on work, not since I turned off my computer Friday late afternoon. Doing the math, I know I have at least three hours of work to put into it. So much for floating on air. I guess it’s a good thing Molly needs to be in bed early.

I reply.

“I’ll have it to you by morning.”

Sitting at my computer in Grandpa’s office, I look around at the empty shelves and imagine them filled with books and the house filled with laughter. My vision isn’t complete without Kandace.

I tell myself I’m moving too fast, but am I?

We have a daughter.

The next morning, the brief is done and sent to Gena. Leaving my car in the garage, I walk toward Quintessential Treasures. As I approach, I see the pulled shades and closed sign. It isn’t until I knock on the door that I hear someone from within.

Kandace’s smile warms me from the inside as she unlocks the door.

“I suppose you should have a key,” she says as she lets me inside.

Her hair is piled on her head, and she’s absolutely gorgeous in a light blue Quintessential Treasures t-shirt and blue jeans.

“I need a shirt,” I say as she locks the door.

“For two days? I think what you’re wearing is fine.”

“Where is Molly?” I ask, looking around.

“Next door.”

“Do you want to join us for breakfast?”

“Nah, I have things to do here. She’s expecting you.”

“Thank you,” I say as I stare at Kandace.

“You better hurry.”

I do, going out the front door and heading to the diner. Molly is sitting on the same stool as she was on Friday morning. Her hair is in pigtails, and she has a stack of pancakes in front of her. The stool to her side is empty. As I walk toward her, I notice a few familiar faces. The round table in the back is still empty.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask.

Molly’s golden eyes turn and look up at me as she grins. “I saved it for you.”

Joyce comes to the counter from the kitchen with a smile on her face. “Coffee?”

“Yes, and I think I’d love some pancakes.”

“You like pancakes?” Molly asks, bouncing on the stool.

“I do. I also like blueberry ice cream.”

“Me too,” she replies with glee. “Grandmom used to make it. I miss her.”

“Did you know that she was my grandma, too?”

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