10. The T-shirt
Chapter 10
The T-shirt
U ntil now, I hadn’t properly made eye contact with the baby. But when we got inside, she was fussing. I can’t claim to have any idea how to change a diaper, but I figured I’d get things ready for when Honey got here.
Yeah, the dining room table isn’t the ideal place, but I’ll wipe it down later. Plus, Leonie’s on top of a couple of blankets. The kid is powerful—especially those pipes. But I have enough sense to keep my eyes on her so she doesn’t roll.
And that’s just it. Her eyes are big and blue and somehow look past mine and—my heart does something weird. It’s like my ribs crack open. My pulse is a mess. The second one is a result of Honey standing in the doorway, a bag in one hand along with a carton of eggs.
I have a strange sensation of déjà vu. Or future vu. I don’t know what any of that means. But there’s a strong sense of rightness inside that I’ve never before experienced.
It’s like she’s come home and this is our family.
But the look I’m getting is Ew Beast as if I’d lock her up here like in the old fairytale, which reminds me of when I teased her about kissing and she said that would be gross.
The woman is no-nonsense. But she’s all beauty. Even half windblown from the rain after a long day. Her neck is long, forming smooth lines that disappear into her shoulders. I recall her wearing my T-shirt. She hasn’t given it back. Maybe she burned it in effigy. Or perhaps she sleeps with it on her pillowcase.
I give my head a little shake because right now it’s all over the place.
Pointing at Leonie, I say, “I think she needs a diaper change.”
Honey bumps me out of the way with her hip and has Leonie clean, dry, and changed into a little sleep sack garment in under sixty seconds.
“You could be part of a pit crew.”
“I was.”
My brow bunches up. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“Where are you putting us?” Her gaze wanders to my chest, where moments before, I’d pressed my hand to my heart. The warmth and imprint remain similar to when I was a kid, and I’d do a belly flop into the lake, it would smart for hours afterward, only better.
My voice is scratchy even after I clear my throat. “I’ve been staying in the main suite on the second floor. You two stay up there. I’ll—” He angles his head toward a leather couch that looks new.
It’s Leonie’s bedtime, and I set her Pack ’n Play next to the king-sized bed in the master bedroom. Honey stares at it.
To put her mind at ease, I say, “As I said, I’m taking the couch.”
“I can’t sleep in here.”
“I understand you’re a headstrong woman, but I assure you?—”
“Why does everyone say that about me?”
“I wasn’t done. You’re also incredibly stubborn.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“It’s adorable.”
“Maddock ...” Her tone is one of warning.
“It’s good to be strong. And it’s obvious you have a head on your shoulders.” I smooth a damp piece of hair behind her ear. “But you could try to be less stubborn.”
“You mean please try to be more adorable?”
“I mean someone stubborn burned me once.”
“But you’re a firefighter. Don’t you know how to put out fires?”
“Safety first.”
Honey blinks a few times as if my comments catch up with her and she doesn’t have the energy left to fight yet battles with herself about how much she wants to collapse onto the bed—it’s plush. “I’m still in the twin I’ve been sleeping in since I was a kid.”
“Then you’ll sleep like a baby with all that room.” I gesture to the king.
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 be I’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 my arm 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.
It’s absurd, but every time I look at Leonie’s eyes, like right now, it’s like my own are staring back at me.
She pronounces the mixture on the stove boo yoh lay and explains it’s similar to custard. Honey flits around like this is her kitchen. If I squint, I can imagine us—a happy family with the wooden screen door flapping open and shut as kids run in and out.
I jolt. Leonie grabs my thumb, squeezes, and juts her legs out before one of her socks flies off. Honey picks it up and stuffs it over my thumb.
I meet her gaze and we both laugh.
“Whoops. Sorry. That was Mom Brain. I must not have slept as well as I thought.”
“After we eat, I’ll go check on the power lines. Do you have the electric company’s app? They should be able to tell you when to expect power to be restored.”
Honey sets two bowls on the table. “I have a flip phone, so no.”
“Is that by choice? Are you a Luddite?”
We talk about people who eschew modern technology for the most part. I learn that her older model device isn’t by choice. And yet, she has a Porsche and used to spend time here at the chateau.
I steal a glance at her eyes as she dips into the custard boo stuff. There are secrets there, that’s for sure.
After a second cup of coffee and a shower, I drive to Honey’s house and return with bad news ... the kind I don’t want to deliver when she meets me with a bright smile as if happy to see me.
“You’ve made some real progress here,” she whispers. Leonie must be down for her morning nap.
“I have a lot more to go, which brings me to the question I’ve been wanting to ask.”
“I have a question for you, too. When I was making breakfast, I found an old cookbook.” She strides toward the kitchen to show me.
The frayed red linen hardcover features the words Cookbook with a basket of apples in the center. Inside, three gold rings bind the brittle pages.
Honey asks, “Do you mind if I borrow it?”
“You can have it ... but this brings me to my question. You can have it only if you live here.”
She blinks a few times as if not believing her ears, as if I’d finally conceded and called a flapjack a pancake.
Then I say, “Because I have bad news.”
Her face crumbles as if she knows the tree went through the roof.
And I want nothing more than to be this woman’s shelter in the storm.