Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Andrea gasped as Wes helped her gingerly navigate the handful of stairs to the front porch of the townhouse.
“You got it?” Wes asked, a pinch of worry between his brows as he opened the door.
She nodded and limped a step over the threshold on her own power.
The warmth of the townhouse enveloped them as Wes helped her to the living room sofa, his movements careful and deliberate.
Crumpet raced around, torn between whether he should simply be overjoyed to see Andrea—though she’d only been outside for five minutes—or should be growling and fighting off the intruder who’d come along with her.
“Crumpet, shh!” Andrea said when the dog let out a high-pitched bark.
Wes leaned over and extended a balled-up hand so the dog could sniff the back of his knuckles.
It was a small gesture, but it warmed Andrea’s heart.
So many people stuck their fingers in a dog’s face or tried to pet them without giving the dog a chance to back up.
Wes likely had a dog or at the very least had experience with them.
Andrea leaned over as the two bonded, and started working on the laces of the snow boots she’d bought the day before she left California. “I should have gone for the Velcro ones,” she muttered to herself.
Wes turned his attention back to her and dropped down to one knee beside the sofa and took over. “Here,” he said, already working on the laces. “Even a sprain can cause a good amount of swelling.”
His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he unlaced her boot, his touch careful and professional despite the intimacy of the gesture.
Andrea found herself studying his profile—the well-trimmed lines of his short beard, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead when he concentrated, the small scar just above his left eyebrow that she hadn’t noticed before.
“This might hurt a little,” he warned, easing the boot off.
Andrea bit back a yelp as her ankle protested the movement. “Sorry. I’m not usually such a baby about pain.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Urgent Care?” Wes asked, his eyes brimming with fresh concern. “There’s one in the next town over.”
He’d asked her at least twice on the short hobble to the stairs.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’ll be fine.”
He frowned, but didn’t argue, and Andrea appreciated that he was willing to respect her decision.
Slowly, she twitched her toes and flexed her foot. “Everything’s working. I think my pride took more damage than my ankle,” she added with a soft laugh. “You’d think with how much I paid for those stupid boots they would have come with better traction.”
Wes smiled and considered the discarded boot before rising to his feet. “Stay right there. I’m gonna get you some ice.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Andrea.” The way he said her name, firm but gentle, made her stomach flutter. “Let me help.”
She directed him to the kitchen, listening to the sounds of him moving around—opening cabinets, running water, the soft thud of the freezer door.
It struck her how natural this felt, having him take care of her in Marren’s cozy space.
When was the last time someone had fussed over her like this?
William certainly hadn’t been the type to play nurse.
Unless one counted the time he’d DoorDashed her some soup and crackers last winter, when she’d come down with the flu.
Crumpet followed Wes to and from the kitchen, keeping a watchful eye on him, but he’d stopped barking.
Phantom was nowhere to be seen, but Andrea figured that was for the best. She had to assume the cat knew better than to start talking in front of strangers, but then, he was rather ornery, and she didn’t want to risk it.
“Here we go,” Wes said, returning with a dish towel wrapped around a bag of frozen peas. “Let’s get it propped up, too.”
He arranged a couple of throw pillows and helped her get situated, her back against one arm of the sofa, a pillow behind it, while the others were stacked in the middle, giving her room to stretch out.
“You good?” he asked before applying the bag of peas.
Andrea hissed against the shock of cold, but the relief was almost immediate. “Thank you, Wes. Really. I should be okay, though, if you need to get back to your crew.”
Wes settled into the armchair across from her, his elbows resting on his knees. “Don’t worry about it. They’re probably over there fighting for the last cupcake,” he replied with a laugh.
Andrea smiled and leaned forward to adjust the bag of peas as it started to slide down the side of her leg. Wes reached out at the same time and their fingers touched. Neither one pulled back for a long moment, their eyes meeting across the space, and suddenly the room felt almost stifling.
Wes leaned closer, their hands still meeting on the bag of frozen peas. “Andrea, I—”
A sharp knock at the front door broke the spell.
Both of them turned toward the sound, and Andrea saw her own confusion reflected in Wes’s expression.
“You expecting someone?” he asked.
“No one even knows I’m here.” The knock came again, more insistent this time. “I have no idea who that could be.”
Wes moved toward the door. “I’ll get it. It’s probably Jim, wondering if there are any more cupcakes.”
“Dad? Dad, are you in there?” a young voice called through the door. “Tommy said you were helping a lady who fell!”
Wes stopped short, his hand on the doorknob. When he turned back to Andrea, his expression had shifted into something between apology and panic.
Dad?
“Oh,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Um. That’s my daughter.”
Before Andrea could process this information, he’d opened the door and revealed a whirlwind of a girl with glossy chestnut curls and an outfit in a riot of colors.
She wore a purple coat over what appeared to be a lime green sweater and orange leggings.
A periwinkle knit hat and matching mittens completed the daring ensemble.
“Dad! Tommy said a lady slipped on ice and you had to rescue her and—” the girl stopped mid-sentence as she spotted Andrea on the couch, green eyes going wide with curiosity.
“Oh! Hi! You must be the lady. Are you okay? Did you break anything? Dad’s really good at fixing people.
He fixed my arm when I fell off my bike last summer. ”
“Emma,” Wes said, his voice carrying a note of gentle warning. “Breathe.”
Crumpet started barking again as the girl darted inside, but quickly calmed as the girl took off one mitten and reached out her hand. Crumpet sniffed it, then licked her fingers, and she giggled.
The girl—Emma—grinned, revealing a dimple in her right cheek that was an exact mirror of her father’s. A spattering of freckles across her nose completed the picture of irrepressible charm.
“Sorry,” Emma said, not looking sorry at all. “I talk too much when I’m excited. My grandma says I could talk the ear off a corn stalk. Isn’t she silly?” She turned back to Andrea with bright interest. “Are you going to be okay?”
Andrea found herself smiling despite the awkwardness of the situation. “I think I’ll be fine. Just a sprained ankle.”
“I sprained my ankle last year!” Emma exclaimed, far more enthusiastically than the proclamation demanded. “I fell off the monkey bars at school and landed wrong. It got better really fast, but I missed two weeks of swimming lessons. So that sucked.”
“Emma…” Wes said, placing his hands on his daughter’s shoulders as he came to stand behind her.
Andrea smiled at the girl. “You have quite a busy schedule, it sounds like.”
The girl beamed.
“Speaking of…” Wes interjected. “What are you doing here? You should be in school.”
Emma tilted her head up to look at Wes. “Half day, Dad! And now it’s officially winter break!” The girl pumped her arms in the air, her smile bright enough to power an entire neighborhood. “So, to celebrate, I asked Grandma if we could bring you lunch!” she added.
A flicker of something crossed Wes’s face, but Andrea couldn’t read the expression. “I see. Must have got my days mixed up.”
“Sorry we don’t have a sandwich for you,” Emma said, returning her attention to Andrea. “What’s your name? I’m Emma!”
“It’s nice to meet you, Emma. My name is Andrea.”
Emma beamed. “That’s a pretty name. I like your house and your doggy!”
Crumpet wagged his nubby tail, clearly pleased with the compliment.
“Well, thank you. His name is Crumpet, and it looks like he likes you, too.”
Emma patted Crumpet on the head, then spied a rubber ball and lunged for it. She tossed it toward the kitchen, then tore off after it, almost as fast as the terrier.
Andrea laughed as she watched them go.
“Be careful!” Wes called before shifting his attention back to Andrea. “Sorry. I—I didn’t expect her to be here.”
“It’s okay. She’s a delight. I didn’t, uh, know you had a daughter, but I guess I should have.”
His brow furrowed as one hand went to rub the back of his neck.
“I saw the photo on your phone last night at the pub,” Andrea explained.
“Oh.” Wes nodded.
“So, are you … divorced?” Andrea ventured, vaguely holding up her left hand. “I’m assuming you’re not married.”
She silently prayed to the goddesses that he wasn’t the type to slip off his ring and flirt when his wife wasn’t around.
Wes’s expression tightened for a moment, then softened. “No, um, I was married, but my wife died six years ago.”
Andrea winced. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” Wes exhaled and dropped his hand back to his side.
From the kitchen, the ball bounced along the floor then hit something with a thunk that led to a clattering sound. Andrea recognized the sound of an aluminum cake pan hitting the floor and winced.
“Emma!” Wes exclaimed, already heading for the kitchen.
Crumpet raced back to the sofa and leaped up beside Andrea, nearly crashing into her injured leg. “Whoa!”
A moment later, Wes escorted his young daughter from the kitchen, the ball no longer in sight.
“Sorry, Andrea,” the girl said, a little bashful as she looked down at her colorful outfit.
Andrea smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it.”
Emma rallied, her curiosity sparking back to life like an ember turning to a flame. “Um, why are there so many muffins in the garbage? Did you mix up the recipe or something? One time I got the teaspoon and tablespoon mixed up and put in way too much salt! You should have seen Dad’s face!”
“Emma,” Wes interrupted, but his tone was soft, more amused than irritated. “Remember to give people a chance to answer before you ask the next question.”
“I know, I know.” Emma’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Grammy’s always telling me to slow down and use my inside voice.”
“I don’t mind,” Andrea said, and found that she meant it.
There was something infectious about Emma’s enthusiasm, something that reminded her of her own childhood before she’d learned to measure her words and guard her reactions.
“I’m a cookbook author. I’m working on my next book, and it’s all about cupcakes, so I’m testing recipes and figuring out how to make them perfect. ”
“Really?” Emma’s eyes lit up like a Fourth of July fireworks show. “That’s so cool! Do you know how to make those fancy cakes they show on TV? The ones that look like castles and stuff?”
Andrea laughed softly and nodded. “I do, actually.”
“Could you teach me? I love baking but I’m not very good at it yet. I promise I know the difference between teaspoons and tablespoons now! Grandma knows how, but she doesn’t like having extra treats around the house, and the school is really picky about what you can bring to share with the class.”
Andrea caught Wes watching their exchange with an expression she couldn’t quite read—pride mixed with something that might have been worry.
“Emma,” he said gently, “It’s probably not the best time. We should let Andrea rest.”
Emma’s face fell slightly, but she rallied quickly. “Okay. But maybe we could come back and check on you later? To make sure your ankle’s okay?”
The question was directed at Andrea, but Emma’s eyes flicked to her father as if seeking permission.
“I’d like that,” she heard herself say.
Wes’s expression shifted into surprise, followed by something warmer. “If you’re sure you don’t mind the company.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Emma beamed. “Awesome! Maybe next time you could show me one of your cookbook recipes? I promise I’ll listen really carefully and not talk too much.”
“Of course.”
“Cool! Okay, Dad, I’m ready to go. Bye, Andrea! I hope your ankle feels better!” She leaned over and scratched Crumpet behind the ears. “Bye, doggy!” And with that, she bounced toward the door, humming to herself.
Wes lingered for a moment, his eyes meeting Andrea’s.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “She’s a bit of a force of nature,” he added with a chuckle.
“She’s wonderful,” Andrea replied with a warm smile. “You’re lucky to have her.”
Wes inclined his head, his eyes dark with emotion as he swallowed. “Yes. I am.” He gestured at the swaddled bag of peas. “You need anything before I go?”
“I’ll be fine,” Andrea assured him. “I promise.”
“Okay. But if you need anything, anything at all, just holler. We’ll be working until about five.”
And then they were gone, leaving Andrea alone with the lingering scent of cedar and winter air, and the echo of Emma’s bright chatter.
She settled back against the pile of throw pillows, careful not to jostle the bag of peas, and exhaled slowly.
Wes had a daughter.
The prospect of a casual winter fling suddenly felt a lot more complicated.