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Frowning, he puts his hand up. “I told you to take care of my daughter.”
Fuck.I swallow hard. The man may have cancer, but I have no doubt he’d take me to the mat for his daughter. Especially if he knew I was just on my way to fuck his daughter raw. “That isn’t what you meant; I get it—”
“No, son. It’s goddamn exactly what I meant.” A smile cracks his craggy face. “It took you two long enough.”
The tightness in my chest loosens.
“My daughter’s strong,” Stede says. “She’s a fighter. She makes me the proudest father in the world. And you’re the one she needs.”
“Pretty sure I’m the one who needs her.” I rub my jaw, then come out with it. “I want to marry her, sir.”
It’s the only thing to say. I need a ring on her finger like my last breath. Rope myself to this woman until the end of time.
“Every blessing you want—they’re yours.” His grin widens. “This saves me time and saves you time. You want to marry her and raise that boy as a Montgomery, then you do that. And remember what I told you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Be true. It’s all I ask. Otherwise, I got a shotgun with your name on it.”
“Always.” I grin, my heartbeat jumping all over the place. “You should tell your daughter you’re proud of her, sir. I think she’d want to know.”
The old man’s gray eyes go misty. “Giving me advice?”
I chuckle. “No, Stede. Just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Stede holds out a hand, and I take it. “Welcome to the goddamn family, son.”
“You got more than that bun in the oven, Dakota?”
I laugh and wag a finger at the grizzled man peering into the kitchen. “We have fresh cinnamon rolls on Tuesdays, Lou, and you know that.” Balancing on tiptoes, I reach for a container of Skoal behind the counter. “You should quit this if you know what’s good for you.”
He looks both annoyed and embarrassed.
A crash of cans from the beer aisle has me looking up. “Hamm’s is two rows from the top, Clyde.”
Lou takes the can, pays, and hitches his jeans. “Be back Tuesday for those cinnamon rolls.”
I give him a wink. “Be sure to save you some.”
Lou shuffles out of the store, making way for Clyde and his six-pack. After that, the store is quiet. Fallon’s called in late, so I make myself useful, whipping up a batch of cinnamon rolls and letting the dough rise.
Finished, I exit the kitchen and cross to the big window overlooking Main Street. Warm. Sunny. Spring’s in the air. Shops and boutiques and restaurants are all getting ready for the tourist season. When the ice melts in the pass, that’s the sign our small town is open for business.
My gaze flits around The Corner Store. Nostalgia sweeps over me. But also change.
I reach in the back pocket of my jeans and unfold the check I got this afternoon—the fire insurance claim payout for Milk & Honey. A nice sum that has me marveling at all that money.
I can see it all. The realm of possibilities. My bakery. A place with warm coffee and caramel rolls. A place that opens with the sun and closes before the day is done. That grows with Resurrection, not against.
For so long, I thought it was all about escaping my hometown and moving on to bigger and better things. But finally, I see Resurrection for what it was: a place to leave.
And I see it for what it is now. A place to be.
And I shouldn’t feel bad about that.
That’s what second chances are for.
That’s the life I make.
