Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sam
Iget Mr. Bingley settled into his bed after checking his paws for damage. He must’ve been absolutely sprinting around, and I’m sure Poppy’s chase only increased his distance. Sweet girl, wanting to save him. I should ask Grant if they can come play with Mr. Bingley some time.
Grant.
Someone have mercy on me, because what am I supposed to do with this man?
How am I supposed to watch him literally race to find his child, hold her close and not tear into her like my mother would’ve done, and then witness him carrying both girls back like some kind of superhuman sexiest dad on Earth situation come to life. What!?
I was this close to saying something completely stupid like, “Gee, you’re super strong.” Thank goodness I didn’t. Nor did I voice the other thoughts that crept in like, man you could really toss a girl around, couldn’t you?
Now he wants me to join them for hot chocolate, and it’s no big deal. It’s really not.
And yet, there’s still a flutter of anticipation in my chest.
A few minutes later, I knock on the front door to the main house and Grant pulls it open.
My breath catches because he is problematically good-looking and there is no avoiding that reality right now.
It has to be the aftermath of him carrying the kids and being so sweet to them. It’s some primal thing happening here where I recognize he could keep me and our children alive and my instincts are saying, choose this one! He’ll keep humanity thriving!
“How’s Mr. Bingley?” Amusement flickers across his face when he says the name.
He closes the door behind me, and I bend to pull off my boots.
They’re a pair I found at the thrift store, and I’ve never been more grateful for good footwear.
LA never got cold enough to warrant snow boots, so I came ill-prepared.
Thankfully, I’ve been able to pick up lots of shifts at Jerry’s and people in town have been generous with tips.
“He’s disgruntled, but good. I’m sorry, again. He never even attempted to escape in LA, but it’s like he knows there’s actual nature outside instead of concrete here.” I wrestle with my winter coat. The sleeves are a touch tight since I layered it over a hoodie and a waffle-knit long-sleeved shirt.
“Let me.” He steps around me and guides the jacket off one arm, then the other. “We’ll put it right here so it’s ready for you whenever you need it.”
I blink, his words striking me as oddly purposeful, but I can’t tell why. Our eyes are locked into each other, his gorgeous blue gaze darker in the dim light of the hallway. “Thanks.”
“Let’s get you warmed up,” he says, right as I scrub my hands along my upper arms.
We move down a long hallway painted a pleasant olive green color with large, framed photos on either side. The girls, him and the girls, two people I don’t recognize who must be their parents…
Gah, there it is. This thing that disarms me about him every time. Some hint of what they’ve all been through, and it just skewers me.
“Are these Lily and Poppy’s…” I realize saying parents feels wrong. He’s clearly their parent.
“Yes. Their mom and dad.” His jaw flexes as he looks at a photo of a handsome man with blond hair in a military uniform, his arms around a woman with a pixie cut of bright pink hair in a long, flowing dress. “My best friends.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s probably not the right thing to say, but I don’t know what is.
His attention shifts to me and he studies my face for a moment. Right when self-consciousness threatens to creep in, his chin dips slightly. “Me, too.”
“Daddy, can I have more marshmallows?” Poppy’s voice rings and cuts through the moment.
His mouth tugs up into a half smile on one side and he raises his brows. “Urgent business in the kitchen.”
I grin and follow him. A left turn at the end of the hallway takes us into a bright, airy kitchen with beautiful Baltic blue cabinetry and a light gray stone countertop. The girls sit at a low bar on stools with backs, and they both swing around when we enter.
“Are you having marshmallows with your hot chocolate, Miss Sam?” Lily asks, a hot chocolate mustache in full force on her sweet little face.
“Definitely.”
Grant helps both girls refill their marshmallows, then uses a ladle to dip out what I now realize is homemade hot chocolate from a small copper pot on the stove.
“You actually made hot chocolate?” I’m fairly certain I’ve never had anything but a packet of Swiss Miss and it was considered fancy if we used milk instead of water.
“It’s a family recipe. Nothing tricky, and mostly tradition. No allergies, right?” He hands me a mug a few shades darker than the cabinets.
“No, no allergies.” I take a sip and shut my eyes. It’s thick and super chocolatey, but not so much that it’s overwhelming. Just rich and creamy and completely delicious. “That is so good.”
“Our dad’s an expert hot chocolate maker, right?” Lily beams with pride.
Rightfully so. “He really is. This is the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“Wait until you try his lasagna. It’s so good.” Lily’s eyes are wide like she needs me to understand.
“He makes really good noodles.” Poppy stuffs her mouth with a handful of marshmallows, then adds, “Oh, and applesauce, too.”
“You make applesauce?” I’ve never met anyone who cooks like that.
He huffs a small chuckle and raises his mug for a sip before responding. “If by make you mean I pour it from the store-bought container into a bowl? Then yes.”
I laugh, then cover my mouth so I don’t make the girls feel bad.
“I do make lasagna, and you better believe I can boil some noodles like a boss.”
Too charmed for my own good, I grin. “I’m sure you can, Sheriff.”
“He makes us eat a lot of chicken, though.” Lily gives me a despairing look.
“You don’t like chicken?” I can’t exactly commiserate when her dad is clearly trying to feed them well.
She shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t love it. Especially like five nights a week.”
I take another drink of my hot chocolate to avoid saying anything.
Grant gives Lily a glare. “We do not eat chicken five nights a week.”
“We have pizza on Wednesdays and something different on Fridays at Gram and Gramp’s. Otherwise…” She slumps dramatically, her upper body slouching onto the bar top. “It’s chicken.”
Poppy giggles.
Grant chuckles and shakes his head, but there’s love in his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was torturing you with chicken.”
“You are.” She lifts her head ever so slightly, then flops back down.
Poppy howls with laughter. It’s such an irresistible sound, I join in.
They go on like this, chatting and laughing, Lily completely hamming it up and Poppy giving her the over-the-top response she clearly wants. And I fall a little bit in love with all of them.
There’s a glow in my chest after Grant hauls Lily into his side and tickles her until she’s giggling like a maniac, but Poppy yawns and I snap out of it. I’m not a part of this, and it’s time for me to go.
My phone has been buzzing in my pocket, but no one calls me. May or Evie would text. So whoever this is must be a wrong number, and I haven’t wanted to interrupt this slice of normalcy and sweetness.
“I better get back and check on Mr. Bingley.” I rinse my mug and set it in the top rack of the dishwasher.
“Aw, do you have to go?” Poppy says, but she’s rubbing her eyes and one glance at Lily tells me she’s fading, too.
“I do. But I’ll see you again soon. Maybe you can come over and play with Mr. Bingley sometime, if your dad thinks it’s okay.” Grant’s eyes are on me, and thankfully, his face doesn’t immediately signal I’ve made a misstep.
“That sounds like fun,” he confirms.
“Yay!” Poppy shoots her hands out to me from where she’s still perched on a stool. “Hug!”
I’m startled into action, worried she’ll fall if I don’t jump, accepting her small embrace and then moving down the line to where Lily is grinning, arms out, waiting for her turn.
Blinking away the threat of tears hitting me, I clear my throat.
“Thank you for the hot chocolate. See you soon, girls.”
I move toward the front door, glancing at my phone to see an unknown number with a California area code. My stomach sinks, but it doesn’t mean much. My phone has a Cali number, too, so it doesn’t have to mean anything.
“Girls, dishes in the sink. I’m going to walk Miss Sam out.”
I hear his words and in seconds, he’s there with me, holding up my jacket as I slip my arms in.
“Thank you for—”
“Thanks—”
We both halt, sharing a small smile.
“You go,” I insist.
“Thank you for helping find Poppy, and for spending time with us this afternoon.”
He says these words while wearing the most intense, encompassing expression. If I didn’t have practice staying calm in all manner of challenges, I would forget everything but his handsome face.
“It was my pleasure. I’m sorry it happened in the first place.”
He steps closer, definitely nearer than would be normal if we were just… whatever we are.
“Could we start over? I know I’ve been…” He glances away, giving me the perfect close-up view of his razor-sharp jaw as it flexes and the firm column of his throat.
“You’ve been great, Grant. There’s no need.”
But even as I say this, he holds up his hand between us.
“I’m Grant. I’m a single dad, and I own the apartment you’re going to stay in.
I’m overprotective of the people I love, especially my girls, and that combined with my job as sheriff means I can be a bit suspicious and not particularly welcoming to newcomers. ”
Delight flips around in my stomach as I accept his offer. His warm, dry hand envelops mine. It’s at once electric and completely serene—safe. At least on one level. Nothing is safe about the way my skin hums with energy where we’re clasped together.
“I’m Sam. I’m a mess.” I huff a laugh and his teeth flash in a smile.
“I’m starting over here, definitely happy to be in Juniper View instead of stuck in my old life, and I’m—” I clear my throat to banish the tightness emotion is causing there.
“I’m grateful to be here, getting to know you and your family. ”
His hand tightens on mine, and I swear he’s closer, even though neither of us has moved. “I’m so glad to meet you, Sam.”
The moment breaks when Lily and Poppy both run into the hallway, Lily yelling, “No, Poppy! You can’t!” and Poppy squealing as she bolts up the stairs buck naked.
I laugh and turn away and release his hand, trying to give privacy, and I catch a blush and chagrined smile on Grant’s face.
I drop his hand and move away. “I think that’s my cue.”
“Suppose so. I better go.” He backs away.
But he doesn’t turn. He keeps his eyes on me as I leave the house, and for some reason, that backward walk with those blue eyes on me stays in my head the rest of the night.