Chapter Seven
Amy sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped together, waiting for the perfect moment to speak. Tim was washing up, his movements slow and deliberate, the sound of water splashing a gentle rhythm in the quiet room.
“Tim?” Amy said as he dried his hands and turned toward her.
“Sure, what is it?” Tim replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sat down beside her. He was thrilled with their arrangement so far. The children were doing well, and she was a better cook than anyone he’d ever known.
“I’ve been thinking about asking my sister Gail to build a treehouse for the kids,” she said, her gaze fixed on his face to gauge his reaction. “She’s got magic hands for that sort of work. Thought maybe I could pay her in cookies or such since she’d rather climb trees than be stuck by a stove.”
“Sounds fair enough.” Tim chuckled. “But you know Gail married Max, the one who owns the restaurant and hotel in town? You might find yourself cooking there for a day or two. Max won’t be able to spare Gail for long, and that would be a good way of paying them back. With the way you cook, he’ll never want to let you leave.”
Amy bit her lip, considering this, before nodding resolutely. “Then that’s what I’ll do. I’m sure Gail will be thrilled to have a couple of days doing what she does best. She’s a good cook, but she hates it so much! I think it would be a fair trade for the littles to have a place to play, don’t you think?”
“Can’t argue with that,” he agreed, leaning back against the headboard and pulling her close.
Their conversation meandered through plans and dreams. The night deepened around them, but inside their little world, time seemed to stand still.
Tim’s hand found hers, his touch warm and steady. His fingers traced delicate patterns on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her spine. She leaned into him, her breath catching as his other hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“Tim...” she whispered, her heart fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird.
“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finding hers in the darkness. Their kiss was gentle at first, testing, exploring, but as the seconds slipped away, it grew deeper, hungrier.
The rest of the world fell away. It was just the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms, the steady beat of their hearts echoing through the silence of the night. They moved together, desire making them hungry for one another.
AMY PADDED SOFTLY THROUGHthe still house. Sunday’s early light crept through the windows. She moved with practiced quietness, laying out the neatly pressed garments at the foot of each bed. George’s shirt and trousers were easy, but her fingers lingered on the fabric of Beatrice’s dress, its plain cut a stark contrast to what a young lady might desire. A gentle sigh escaped her lips—Beatrice deserved something finer, something that would let the girl shine.
“Got to make some proper dresses for Bea,” Amy murmured to herself, envisioning soft laces and satins.
With the clothing sorted, she tiptoed to the kitchen. The comforting ritual of cooking filled her with a sense of purpose and peace. First, she cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a dash of salt before pouring them into the sizzling pan. Next came the toast, each slice crisping to golden perfection under her watchful eye. She hummed a tune, lost in the rhythm of assembling sandwiches packed with the fluffy eggs and savory sausage.
“Smells like heaven in here,” Tim’s voice broke the morning’s quiet as he emerged, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Morning, “ Amy greeted him with a smile, placing a steaming mug of coffee on the table. “Thought we’d start the day right.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Tim said, taking a seat and reaching for a sandwich. His appreciative grin was all the thanks she needed.
“Sunday best is all laid out for the kids,” she added, pouring herself a cup of coffee and joining him.
“Beatrice too?” Tim asked between bites. “She’s not always the best behaved at church these days.”
“Especially Beatrice,” Amy replied. “Though I think she needs something new, something with a touch of grace.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tim agreed, nodding. “You seem to know what they all need.”
Their conversation flowed as easily as the coffee they shared, a simple joy found in the quiet moments of the morning.
The children gathered for breakfast. “George, you’re hogging all the sandwiches. If you take three then I don’t get one!” Beatrice’s voice was particularly shrill as she glared at her brother.
“Am not!” George protested with a scowl. “Just eat your eggs, Beatrice.”
Amy watched them, her heart sinking a little. The balance between stepmother and disciplinarian was a tightrope she walked daily. She set down her sandwich, untouched, and attempted to broker peace. “Now, let’s share nicely. There’s plenty for everyone.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Beatrice muttered, glaring at her brother before snatching a sandwich from his plate.
“Enough, Beatrice.” Amy’s voice was firm. She caught George’s eye, hoping he would let the matter drop.
George sighed. “This isn’t going to be enough, and my stomach will growl all through church.”
