bossy. But her heart was in the right place. Did Sam sense that somehow? Did he see beyond the walls she’d worked so hard to erect? He must have. Why else would he offer to share his life with her? Why trust her with the children he so obviously adored?
The fact that Sam was willing to take a chance on Harper filled her with mixed emotions. If nothing else, it was a rousing kick in the ass.
Embracing the future, Harper swigged water then traded her teddy for workout gear. She switched on CNN, switched it off, switched it on. Better to be aware. She skimmed TMZ then pulled up a contact list of her clients. She had a lot of work to do before Sam got here and … right.
Daisy.
Harper hopped on her exercise bike, phone in hand. Her multitasking abilities were excellent if she did say so herself. She pedaled and texted: AGENDA FULL THROUGH LUNCH. MEET ME HERE AT SIX ?
Five seconds later Daisy replied: COCKTAIL HOUR ! WOO-HOO !
Harper smiled. Not for the first time, she imagined the eccentric geriatric as the star of her own quirky reality show. She texted back: PINK COSMOS FOR TWO . Because even though she’d been avoiding alcohol, Harper figured she’d have reason to celebrate by six o’clock.
Today she was going to make it into Sugar Creek and back without a meltdown.
Today she had a lifeline.
SIX
Daisy Monroe shuffled into the kitchen rocking (as the kids said) plush moose slippers and a hot-pink robe embroidered with a purple crown and the word PRINCESS . She didn’t care that her morning ensemble was more suited to a teen. She cared that it made her smile.
Last year she’d invested in her own business, a trendy café called Moose-a-lotta. She not only worked behind the counter, she sometimes dressed in a moose costume, appearing at special functions as Millie Moose, the mascot of Moose-a-lotta. Her partner, Chloe, nine months pregnant with Daisy’s first great-grandbaby, had had an encounter with a bull moose resulting in a life epiphany. Born and raised in the Green Mountain State, Daisy had a lifelong appreciation of the antlered creature and it had been a hoot decorating their café with eclectic moose-a-bilia. Clocks, pillows, salt and pepper shakers, mugs. They even had their own logo—a cartoonish moose wearing cat-eye glasses and chef’s hat—a reflection of the owners’ personalities. Daisy owned an assortment of metallic and blingy bifocals and Chloe had graduated with honors from a culinary arts institute. Which is why they’d met in the first place, but that was another story.
As for the princess robe, it had been a gift from Daisy’s honey, a man who appreciated her whimsical side. A man who treated her like royalty. Which is why she had decided this very morning not to operate behind Vincent’s back, but instead, to include him in her scheme.
As always, the owner of Oslow’s General Store, Sugar Creek’s go-to grocery since 1888, had beaten her to the kitchen and had breakfast waiting on the table. Daisy told herself it wasn’t because he didn’t trust her not to burn down his house (her concentration wasn’t what it used to be—or so her family told her), but because he liked doting on her. Which felt significantly different than being made to feel like you were no longer able to care for yourself.
Vincent turned to face her, toasting her with a percolator and a wide smile. “Morning, Petunia.”
She found it amusing that he’d nicknamed her after a flower when she’d been legally named for another flower. She thought it was cute. Like Vincent. (Or Speedy, as she sometimes called him.)
“Morning.” She smiled as he pulled out her chair and poured her a cup of coffee, treating her—as always—like royalty. Princess Petunia. Hee. “I got a text from Chloe,” she said as he took his seat, “asking if I could work the afternoon shift instead of the morning. A last-minute scheduling snafu.”
“Not a problem,” Vincent said, while slathering his toast with apple
The fact that Sam was willing to take a chance on Harper filled her with mixed emotions. If nothing else, it was a rousing kick in the ass.
Embracing the future, Harper swigged water then traded her teddy for workout gear. She switched on CNN, switched it off, switched it on. Better to be aware. She skimmed TMZ then pulled up a contact list of her clients. She had a lot of work to do before Sam got here and … right.
Daisy.
Harper hopped on her exercise bike, phone in hand. Her multitasking abilities were excellent if she did say so herself. She pedaled and texted: AGENDA FULL THROUGH LUNCH. MEET ME HERE AT SIX ?
Five seconds later Daisy replied: COCKTAIL HOUR ! WOO-HOO !
Harper smiled. Not for the first time, she imagined the eccentric geriatric as the star of her own quirky reality show. She texted back: PINK COSMOS FOR TWO . Because even though she’d been avoiding alcohol, Harper figured she’d have reason to celebrate by six o’clock.
Today she was going to make it into Sugar Creek and back without a meltdown.
Today she had a lifeline.
SIX
Daisy Monroe shuffled into the kitchen rocking (as the kids said) plush moose slippers and a hot-pink robe embroidered with a purple crown and the word PRINCESS . She didn’t care that her morning ensemble was more suited to a teen. She cared that it made her smile.
Last year she’d invested in her own business, a trendy café called Moose-a-lotta. She not only worked behind the counter, she sometimes dressed in a moose costume, appearing at special functions as Millie Moose, the mascot of Moose-a-lotta. Her partner, Chloe, nine months pregnant with Daisy’s first great-grandbaby, had had an encounter with a bull moose resulting in a life epiphany. Born and raised in the Green Mountain State, Daisy had a lifelong appreciation of the antlered creature and it had been a hoot decorating their café with eclectic moose-a-bilia. Clocks, pillows, salt and pepper shakers, mugs. They even had their own logo—a cartoonish moose wearing cat-eye glasses and chef’s hat—a reflection of the owners’ personalities. Daisy owned an assortment of metallic and blingy bifocals and Chloe had graduated with honors from a culinary arts institute. Which is why they’d met in the first place, but that was another story.
As for the princess robe, it had been a gift from Daisy’s honey, a man who appreciated her whimsical side. A man who treated her like royalty. Which is why she had decided this very morning not to operate behind Vincent’s back, but instead, to include him in her scheme.
As always, the owner of Oslow’s General Store, Sugar Creek’s go-to grocery since 1888, had beaten her to the kitchen and had breakfast waiting on the table. Daisy told herself it wasn’t because he didn’t trust her not to burn down his house (her concentration wasn’t what it used to be—or so her family told her), but because he liked doting on her. Which felt significantly different than being made to feel like you were no longer able to care for yourself.
Vincent turned to face her, toasting her with a percolator and a wide smile. “Morning, Petunia.”
She found it amusing that he’d nicknamed her after a flower when she’d been legally named for another flower. She thought it was cute. Like Vincent. (Or Speedy, as she sometimes called him.)
“Morning.” She smiled as he pulled out her chair and poured her a cup of coffee, treating her—as always—like royalty. Princess Petunia. Hee. “I got a text from Chloe,” she said as he took his seat, “asking if I could work the afternoon shift instead of the morning. A last-minute scheduling snafu.”
“Not a problem,” Vincent said, while slathering his toast with apple
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