Chapter 23
The open-air flea markets in Chicago are insane—a barrage of amazing pieces full of character. Tables, chairs, benches, and
something called a crumb butler, which I’m absolutely incorporating somehow.
Thursday, after a successful day of shopping, Contractor Pete, who has a truck and trailer, is nice enough to help load and
transport my haul back to the space. If I did the spatial math right, I think I got all the furniture I’ll need. I also found
cupcake stands, cake stands, and several pieces of art—a cool black-and-white charcoal piece of sunflowers in a vase, and
another with a blue barn and a faded red truck in front of it—to hang on the walls.
It was a full, wonderful, creative, successful day.
I’ve only been back at the apartment long enough to drink a bottle of water and eat a Scotcheroo when there’s a knock on my
door.
My heart flip-flops. It’s been days since I’ve seen Miles.
I don’t like how we left things. I feel like I messed up.
Also, apparently, my heart misses him.
When I pull open the door, it’s not Miles standing there.
It’s a tall, young brunette with the most perfect skin I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’m confused. “Hi. Can I help you?”
Her smile is wide, showing off a perfect row of bright white teeth. “No, but I think I can help you. You’re Claire, right?”
“I’m sorry—who are you?”
“Oh, I’m Zoey,” she says. “I’m here to set up all the social media accounts for your new business.”
“Okay . . .” I look around, confused. Is there a hidden camera somewhere? “Uh . . . who sent you?”
“Miles? Miles Westbrook?” Her smile fades just a little. “He . . .” And then, as if realizing, “He didn’t talk to you about
this.”
“Uh, no, he didn’t,” I say, confused. He hired her? What for? “How do you know Miles?”
“I work for him,” she says.
“You work for him.”
“Yes.” She nods, eyes bright, like being here is the best thing she’s done all week.
And that’s when I realize that this isn’t the first time I’ve seen her. The first week I moved in, this is the brunette I saw leaving his apartment.
Did he really send one of his women to my apartment?
She’s even younger up close than she was from a distance, and knowing that she works for Miles and he had her there, at his apartment . . . Good grief, he’s crossed so many lines. My mind starts down a path
but is interrupted when she says—
“I mean, full disclosure, he’s also my dad.” Zoey scrunches her nose. “I never like to tell that part because, you know, nepotism—but
I promise, I’m good at my job. And also, you don’t really have to worry about it because I’m on my dad’s payroll, and I just
do what he tells me. If you hate it, you don’t have to use it, and I’ll still get paid.” Her laugh is light.
My brain is still stuck on “He’s also my dad.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “You’re Miles’s daughter.”
She nods. “Zoey.”
“Zoey.”
I pause. “His daughter.”
She smiles. “Yes, I’m still his daughter.” And then her expression shifts. “Is that weird? I know you guys are friends, and
I don’t want you to be uncomfortable—”
“No, not at all.” But it is a lot of information to process. The woman I saw leaving Miles’s apartment wasn’t his employee or his date—it was his daughter.
His beautiful, sweet daughter.
“My older sister, Ava, also works for him,” she says. “I know how it looks—like we took the easy road or whatever, but he’s
a really good boss, and it’s a great work environment, so . . . we stay.”
My brain is still stuck on “He’s also my dad.”
“Is your sister tall and blonde?”
Zoey’s expression goes mock-annoyed. “Looks like a supermodel.” She rolls her eyes. “I’d hate her if I didn’t love her so
much.”
I sit with that information . . . then let out a rueful laugh. “He never told me . . .”
“He doesn’t talk about himself a lot,” she says. “He’ll never say, but the divorce was really hard on him. People don’t always
realize it because he’s so upbeat all the time. He doesn’t like to be negative.” A pause. “I think he’s been doing better
lately.”
At that, I go still. Because I haven’t heard this story. Also because I can’t let her be the one to tell it to me.
I open the door a little wider. “Good grief, I’m so sorry . . . please, come in. Let’s talk about my nonexistent social media.”
She laughs. “Oh, it won’t be nonexistent for long.”
“So, I don’t know how much you know about the bakery,” I say. “It’s called The Porch, and the concept is—”
She silences me with an upheld hand. “My dad already filled me in, and it sounds adorable. He said you’re an amazing baker.”
“He’s being kind,” I say.
She shakes her head. “He is kind, but that’s not what this is. He’s genuinely so excited about the idea I’m surprised he hasn’t
tried to become your business partner.”
I laugh. “He did offer to be a silent investor.”
Her eyes go wide. “I hope you said no. There is no way he will be silent.”
Another laugh. It feels good to connect with someone in Miles’s life. Someone important to him. It’s like seeing another side of him completely. “Please, sit.” I motion to the couch, and Zoey sits down.
“I’m going to grab some snacks,” I say.
“I never turn down snacks.”
I smile as I pull out containers of various baked goods that have helped relieve the stress of the week. I place cookies and
bars and muffins onto a plate, grab a couple bottles of water, and walk back into the living room, where I find Zoey clicking
around on her laptop.
I set the plate in front of her and hand over a bottle of water, watching as she eyes the treats. “Is it too late to change
the terms of our agreement?” She looks at me. “I want to be paid in baked goods.”
I laugh. “Like father, like daughter.”
She nods. “That tracks. He’s always had a sweet tooth.” Zoey scans the plate, almost like she’s not sure how to decide what
to try.
“Whatever you don’t eat now, you’re taking home, so no need to be choosy,” I say.
“Phew. Okay.” She picks up a lemon bar and a napkin and takes a bite. “Oh my gosh, Claire.” She chews. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks,” I say.
She swallows the bite and picks up her computer, balancing the bar in her hand. She turns the laptop around to face me. “I
mocked up a few logos for you. No pressure, but I just wanted to offer them as part of the branding package.”
My eyes go wide as I look at five different logos, and I realize there is no way I’m going to be able to choose just one—and
unlike my baked goods, I can’t save the others for later. “Oh my gosh, Zoey. These are amazing.”
She pushes the laptop closer and takes another bite while I study them.
“Dad said your tagline is ‘Sit, sip, and stay awhile,’ so I built on that.” She smiles. “Great tagline, by the way. I love the whole concept. I think it’s going to be a huge hit. There’s nothing like this anywhere—not that I’ve seen.”
“Thank you for saying that,” I say, looking at her screen. “Oof, I’m starting to get nervous.”
“Good. That means you care.” She smiles. “You don’t have to pick one right now, and if you need me to tweak anything, I can
do that too.”
“I love them all.” I try to imagine the logo on bakery bags and coffee cups. Or on a sign out in front of the shop. “I really
love this one—” I point to a hand-drawn image of a big wraparound porch and the silhouette of two people sitting on a swing.
“It reminds me of my grandma.”
She smiles. “I like that one too.”
“But the one with the wooden signpost is so great too,” I say.
Zoey opens her water bottle. “They were fun to create, but this is your business, so be picky.”
I laugh. “Okay. I will.”
“I’ve been given strict instructions to handle your social media for the next six months,” she says. “So we can take our time
with some of this stuff. But the sooner we start building excitement, the better. Dad said you’re opening in June?”
My eyes go wide. “Wait, six months?”
She goes still. “Is that okay? That’s usually where I start with a freelance branding package to get a good idea of how things
are working. Once you pick a logo and a theme, I’ll get to work on setting you up on all major platforms. Dad mentioned you
might also need help building your website. He has a guy for that too. Actually, I have a guy for that—my fiancé.” She pulls
her bottom lip in like she’s trying really hard not to smile. She’s failing.
I glance down at her hand and notice the beautiful diamond solitaire on her ring finger.
“Oh my goodness, congratulations,” I say, picking up her hand.
“Thanks. It’s still kind of new,” she says, holding her left hand out to admire her ring. “I mean—he’s not new, but the engagement
is new-ish. Six months. We’re hoping to get married at Christmas.”
I look at her—so full of hope and excitement for the future—and I’m struck by how happy I am for her. How hopeful and excited
I am. How nice it is not to begrudge someone else their joy, though I’m ashamed to think of the months I spent wallowing and
doing just that.
“I’m really happy for you, Zoey.”
“Happy enough to make cupcakes for the big day?” She turns her laptop around and closes it. “Dad said you’re the best.” She
nods at the tray of treats. “And I agree.”
My cheeks heat. Just how much has Miles told his daughters about me? He’s told me almost nothing about them.
“I would be honored,” I say.
She nods. “I’ll talk to Kevin about website ideas once we have a direction, and we’ll be good to go.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me,” I say. “You have to let me pay you.”
“Dad’s paying me.” She grins. “And there’s no way he’ll let you pay him.”
I laugh. “Well, the cupcakes will definitely be free.”
“No they won’t.” She raises a brow. “You’ve met my dad, right?”
Lucky for me, I have.
“This is how he is. Mr. Nice Guy.” She sighs. “Too nice if you ask me. He makes business decisions like that too. His big
heart is always messing with his bottom line. That’s why my mom walked all over him.”
The comment catches me off guard.
She rolls her eyes, and I get the impression she thinks I already know this story.
“Sorry.” She shakes her head like she’s shaking away an unwanted memory. “I promised him I wouldn’t go there.” Her phone buzzes on the table. “Oh, shoot. I’m going to be late.” She looks at me. “Wait. Do you want to go out tonight?”
I frown. “With you?”
She laughs. “With a bunch of us.”
That . . . actually sounds fun.
“Dad will be there,” she says. “And you can meet Ava. And Kevin.”
“Is it, like, a family thing?”
“A work thing,” she says. “Trivia night.”
“Trivia night,” I repeat.
She nods. “Once a month, my dad takes the entire staff out somewhere fun. He says it’s good for morale.”
“I bet it is.” I think about John and how he treated his employees. It was the opposite of fun. It was never about the person
as a whole, only about what they could do for the company.
“You should come.” She stands.
“I don’t want to intrude.” I stand and start for the door.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “Everyone would love to meet you!”
At that, I frown. How does everyone even know who I am?
“You can ride with me,” she says. “We’re all meeting in half an hour.”
I give myself a quick once-over. “I’ve been at flea markets all day. I need to change.”
“I can wait.” She’s beaming, and for whatever reason, all I can think is that Minnie is going to love this girl.
And I like that idea more than I should.
“Okay,” I say, relenting. “I’ll come.”
“Are you good at trivia?” she asks. “I just need to know if I should keep you on my team or send you to Dad’s.”