4. Dylan
four
Dylan
It’s seven a.m. on Monday morning and I’m an hour into breakfast service when Charlie arrives at The Hill with Izzy. We’ve got the weekday routine down pat, so when they walk through the front doors of the restaurant—Izzy in her school clothes and sneakers with her bag on her back; her Aunt Charlie in jeans, boots, and black Silver Leaf shirt, her chestnut hair in its standard ponytail—I’m waiting at our usual table. It’s the best in the house, positioned next to a wall made entirely of tall glass doors that open onto a balcony overlooking the Silver Leaf vines. The stack of books, pencils, and activities I keep here for Izzy is pushed to one side to make room for her herb and mushroom omelet, toasted house-made sourdough with jam, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Morning, Little Bee,” I say as she approaches. “Are you hungry?”
She tilts her head from side to side. “Um…medium.”
I relieve her of her backpack and winter jacket, then scoop her up for a hug. She giggles and squirms as my stubble grazes her cheeks.
“Daddy! Your chin’s all scratchy.”
I set her down and rub my jaw, sharing an amused look with my sister, who has expressed dislike for my disheveled look many times before.
“You know, if I let it grow a little longer,” I say, “it’ll soften up, and you might like it.”
Charlie snorts quietly while Izzy’s little nose wrinkles with disgust.
“That doesn’t sound good,” she decides.
It takes effort to keep a straight face. She’s adorable when she takes things so seriously. “It doesn’t?”
“No. It sounds terrible.”
“Understood. Thanks, Iz.”
Izzy’s earnest brown eyes trace my face before they snag on something in my hair, and then she plants her fists on her hips and hits me with a fierce scowl. It’s even cuter than her stern face, and these little flares of spirit fill me with a weird sense of pride and comfort. The world can be tough for girls, but if anyone can take it on, it’ll be my Izzy.
“What is that on your head?” she demands with a furious stomp of her foot.
She stretches up on her toes, and I oblige her wordless request by leaning down to give her a better look at the purple scrunchie holding back the top half of my hair. It was all I could find in my rush to get out of the house this morning, and I can’t work in the kitchen without it.
“Hey!” She jumps up to swipe at it, but I weave out of her way. “I was looking for that.”
“You don’t need it,” I argue. “Your hair looks perfect like this.” I give one of her long, coffee-colored curls a gentle tug, the shine dulled by frizz from the winter drizzle outside, then slide my hands under her arms and set her on her chair.
“That’s enough conversation about how I look, okay? Uncle Finn will be here at eight to take you to school, and I invited Poppy to join us before that, so it’s time to focus on your breakfast.”
Izzy’s eyes light up as I tuck a napkin into the collar of her favorite unicorn sweater and then place a fork in her fist. “Poppy’s coming this morning? Is she bringing her big bag?”
Her big bag? “Uh, I don’t know, but today is her first day as your new nanny, so I want us to spend a few minutes talking about what that means. Is that okay?”
Izzy shovels a big bite of egg into her mouth and answers me around a wide grin. “Yes!”
I tweak her nose, relieved that she’s so enthusiastic about this nanny idea and a little ashamed that I wasn’t open-minded about it in the first place. I wonder if there’ll ever be a time I don’t second-guess my parenting decisions. “Good. Now eat up.”
I pull out another chair and give my sister an expectant look. “How about it, Charlie? Eggs? Pancakes? Granola? I can fix you anything. It’ll only take a minute.”
Like she does every morning, Charlie declines with a shake of her head. “Thanks, but I don’t have time. I’ll go past the kitchen and grab something to eat in my office.”
“No problem. And thanks for getting Izzy ready for school one last time. I appreciate it.”
Charlie runs an affectionate hand over the back of Izzy’s bent head. “It’s never any trouble. You know that.”
“Yeah, I do. Thanks.” I take a seat and pick up my cutlery. “So, I’ll see you tonight?”
“Ah, Dylan?” Charlie lifts her chin, indicating she wants to talk to me away from curious ears. “Do you have a minute?”
Concern pinches between my ribs. “Sure. Uh. Hey, Iz? I need to have a quick talk with Aunt Charlie. Can you keep yourself busy for a few minutes?”
She shrugs easily, already reaching for her activities. “Okay.”
I usher Charlie a few steps to the side as Izzy chooses a book from her collection of busy work, opens it to the dog-eared page two-thirds of the way through, and sets it open on the table in front of her. We’ve shared countless breakfasts, lunches, and dinners at this table while I darted back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room. Making sure Izzy eats well and with me, even if our meals together are often disrupted, is a father-daughter bond that means everything.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Charlie takes another couple of steps away, looking toward my little girl with a crease between her dark brows, and that pinch of worry between my ribs grabs a little tighter.
“It’s probably nothing,” Charlie begins, “but Izzy didn’t want to go to school this morning.”
I glance at Izzy, engrossed in her book and absently nibbling on a slice of toast. “What do you mean? She’s here. She looks happy. And Izzy loves school.”
Charlie raises her hands like she’s not sure what to say, then lets them fall. “She didn’t want to get out of bed—said it was too cold. Didn’t want to get dressed—said she had an upset stomach. Didn’t want to brush her hair or her teeth—said she was tired. Didn’t want to walk over here from the house—said her legs were too sore.”
“But…” I catch the back of my neck while I watch Izzy at the table, her dark head bowed over her book as she flips over another page, her eyes not leaving the story as she sets down her toast and picks up her juice. “She seems fine now?”
“I agree.” Charlie crosses her arms over her chest and regards Izzy alongside me. “So maybe it was just a bad morning. Maybe she didn’t sleep well. It’s probably no big deal, but it’s never happened with me before, and I thought you should know.”
I pull on my shoulder as the knotted muscle in my trap twitches, and I consider telling Charlie about the difficulty Izzy has been having falling asleep. I don’t know why the words won’t come. Maybe I’m still hoping it’s a phase. Maybe talking about it will make it feel more important than it is or has to be. And maybe these are the kinds of things that parents are supposed to worry about. Mothers and fathers. Not uncles and aunts.
I set a palm on Charlie’s shoulder. “I appreciate you telling me, and I’ll take care of it.”
She gives my hand a reassuring pat. “There’s one more thing I need to talk to you about. A business thing.”
Something in my sister’s tone makes my stomach drop. “What is it?”
“We can’t keep the second dining room closed much longer.”
I groan and drop my head back. “Come on, Charlie. We talked about this.”
“I know, but this is good news, Dylan.” She gestures around the restaurant. “Look at this place. Every table is occupied—on a Monday morning! This time twelve months ago, we weren’t even open for breakfast on weekdays. Now we’re turning people away.”
“Yeah, I get it. But I don’t have the bandwidth to run a larger operation right now. I’d have to hire new staff and expand the menu. That’ll impact stock levels and produce orders.” I shake my head, but it does nothing to shake off the building overwhelm. “I know it’s inevitable, and I’ll do it. I will. I just need a little more time.”
Charlie’s expression is firm but gentle as she sighs.
“When we landed the sponsorship contract with the San Francisco Fury, things changed,” she says. “We’ve got money again, and so far, we’ve spent it on upgrading the guest accommodations, renovating the old barn house, and preparing the horses and stables so we could re-establish trail rides. But those things are done—or almost done—and we agreed that once we took care of them, we’d focus on the restaurant. If we want to attract larger weddings and events this year—and we do want that, Dylan—your part of the business needs to grow along with the rest of the ranch.”
I drag a hand down my face, my attention drifting toward Izzy again. I can’t imagine taking on more responsibilities right now, but Charlie is right. The ranch was barely treading water for years after our parents died and now we’re finally making enough money to grow. I’ve got a duty to my family to pull my weight, and our success is Izzy’s success. One day, this place will belong to her.
“I know. You’re right,” I say. “I’ll start making plans.”
“Thank you, Dylan. Let’s set up a time to talk later today. I can help you with some of the forecasting and cost schedules, but I know you’ll want to do the hiring yourself.”
“Sounds good,” I lie. “I’ll come to your office between breakfast and lunch services.”
“I’ll be there.” Charlie’s focus slips from my face, shifting to something past my shoulder, and a smile tugs at her mouth. “Did somebody order a German governess?”
“What?”
I spin around and almost swallow my tongue as Poppy glides through the restaurant wearing white cowboy boots, tight blue jeans that hug her hips, a raspberry-colored sweater that clings to her curves, and her hair in an intricate mass of braids and mint-green ribbons twisted around her head like a crown.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
“I thought it was time to upgrade the Pippi Longstocking joke,” Poppy says as she performs a slow, torturous twirl that shows off denim so worn there’s a tear in the ass, her pale skin underneath pebbled from the chill outside. She spins to a stop, and the scent of her cherry-flavored lip gloss floats in the air. “You can call me Fraulein Heidi, Mr. Davenport.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, ignoring the impulse to check out her chest on the chance her nipples are hard. “Aren’t you cold ?”
Beside me, Charlie chuckles and gives me an encouraging pat on the back. “Good luck, little brother. I’ll see you later.”
I’m vaguely aware of my sister leaving the restaurant, but Poppy has all my attention as she grins like irritating me is her only purpose in life.
“What’s with the scrunchie?” she teases. “I thought professional chefs wore those funny white hats instead. You know? The tall ones that look like you’ve got a floppy white dick on your head?”
I glower like a grumpy old man, knowing she’s baiting me and unable to rise above it, mainly because while I don’t wear the kind of hat she’s referring to, I could totally pull it off if I wanted to.
“Why are you like this?” I demand.
She attempts a look of wide-eyed purity. “Like what?”
I press my eyes shut and take a recalibrating breath, but I can sense her eyeballing me—feel her delight and amusement—and it takes another moment to find my balance.
“Forget it,” I say as I open my eyes. “Do you want to join us for breakfast before Finn takes Izzy to school? The school run has been his thing this year, but if you don’t mind, I’d love you to do it starting tomorrow.”
Poppy swings an arm toward Izzy’s table. “You’re the boss, Mr. Davenport.”
My blood fizzes and pops at the melodic, almost sexy tease in her voice, and I grit my teeth instead of biting back—or doing what I really want to do, which is bite her , starting with those luscious cherry lips.
As we approach the table, Izzy raises her head. She’s almost finished the book she’s reading. Her breakfast? Not so much.
“Poppy!” she exclaims as she bounds out of her chair.
“Hey, Izzy.”
Poppy greets my girl with a big smile, and Izzy’s upturned face glows in its warmth, her brown eyes brightening and her cheeks turning pink. Izzy’s always been a happy kid, but her joy at seeing Poppy takes me by surprise. I didn’t realize they were already so close.
“What’s in your bag today?” Izzy asks, eyeing the giant tote slung over Poppy’s shoulder.
“In here?” Poppy pretends to think as she stuffs a hand inside the bag and rummages around. “Hmm. Nothing you’d like.” She pulls out a lime-green yoyo and a small wooden puzzle made up of multicolored triangles and then turns them over with a disappointed frown. “I picked these up just yesterday, but you wouldn’t know how to use them, would you?”
“Yes!” Izzy accepts the toys, setting the puzzle aside and looping the yoyo string over her little finger. It spins toward the floor—and stays there.
“Oh,” Izzy mutters as her narrow shoulders slump. “That’s not right.”
Poppy ruffles her hair. “It just takes practice. I can show you after school if you like?”
“Okay. I’ll do the tangram instead.”
What the hell is a tangram? But I don’t ask because Izzy’s already forgotten about the yoyo and is tackling the puzzle instead. I watch the whole interaction with a small amount of wonder. Poppy’s a natural at this.
Reaching over, I take Poppy’s bag and set it aside, then pull out a chair for her to sit. “Are you hungry?”
She side-eyes me as if a man has never held her chair before, then lowers herself into her seat as I help her tuck in under the table. “No, thank you. I ate before I came.”
“Milk and sugar aren’t breakfast,” I guess, and by her flat look, I know I’m right.
I swipe a plate from a nearby serving station, set it in front of Poppy, and top it with half of my omelet and sautéed spinach.
“There were also raisins involved,” Poppy argues, but she takes her first mouthful, and I stare as the fork slips free from her lips, her eyes close with pleasure, and she moans at the taste of the food I prepared. “Mm. This is good. Thanks.”
I rub my palms down the front of my thighs, imagining all the things I could cook just for the pleasure of watching her respond like this over and over. Sweet things. Soft things. Things I could feed her by hand. Things that would melt on her tongue and burst in her mouth. Things that would drive her wild.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur.
Oblivious to my fantasies, Poppy turns to Izzy. “And how are you today, little miss?”
The simple question reminds me where we are and what we’re doing. Worry tugs at me as I listen closely for her answer, ready to dissect it for hints about what’s going on.
But Izzy just shrugs as she works on fitting the puzzle pieces back into the timber frame. “I’m good.”
I swallow a tired sigh. Thanks, Iz. That’s really helpful.
“Glad to hear it,” Poppy replies.
Izzy snaps the last triangle into its place in the puzzle frame and then sets it aside. “I’m starting trumpet lessons today.”
“That’s impressive,” Poppy says.
Izzy raises one shoulder like she wants us to believe it’s no big deal, but a proud smile dances across her mouth. “Yeah. I know.”
Poppy glances at me, seeking permission to keep talking, and I give it with a small nod.
“So, your dad asked me to hang out with you for a while. Help you get ready for school. Pick you up at the end of the day. Go with you to your music lessons and dance lessons and all that fun stuff. Your dad will still be around whenever you need him, but this way, he knows you’re with me while he’s working. What do you think about that?”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth, and my thoughts circle her bedtime nerves and resistance to go to school today, as well as my earlier thought that perhaps I should have hired a nanny months ago.
“You do?” I ask carefully. “Why?”
She gives me a sweet, empathetic smile. “Because now you’ll have time to shave.”
Poppy snorts, then covers her mouth to hide her laughter, and Izzy glances at Poppy, clearly confused about what’s funny. Before I can think of something to say that’ll cover my embarrassment without making Izzy feel uncomfortable, Finn pokes his blond head and broad shoulders around the front door of the restaurant and waves to let me know he’s here to collect Izzy.
“Time for school, Little Bee,” I announce. I pluck the napkin from Izzy’s sweater and use it to wipe her face before helping her stand and slinging her backpack over her shoulders. “Poppy will pick you up this afternoon and take you to your music lesson, okay?”
“Will she have my new trumpet?” Izzy asks hopefully.
I lift her up to give her a kiss on the cheek, then set her down again. “She’ll have your new trumpet.”
Izzy pumps her fist. “Yes! Bye, Poppy!”
“See you later, kiddo,” Poppy replies.
I watch Izzy race across the restaurant and fly into Finn’s open arms with a warm glow of affection in my chest and a hard knot of unease in my gut.