“Indeed, Miss Olive. But what have I said before?” Mrs. Harriet asks.
Sighing heavily, my daughter tilts her head. “Quiet feeds art, an art-ist brain.”
Mrs. Harriet laughs softly, stroking my daughter’s hair. “Close enough. Say, see you later, to Daddy and head inside. Arthur just arrived.”
“See you later, Daddy.” She tips her head all the way back and raises her arms.
My heart never ceases to squeeze painfully every time. I lift her in my arms, hold her tight, and kiss her hair.
“See you later, my beautiful girl.”
“I love you, Daddy. Come back, okay?”
Fuck. I squeeze her tighter. Over her shoulder, Mrs. Harriet’s sympathetic gaze almost breaks me.
“See you for dinner. What’s on the menu?” I ask routinely.
She pulls back and thinks. “Pasta.”
I nod. “Done. Love you. Be good for Mrs. Harriet. And eat all your lunch.”
“Right-o, Daddio,” she giggles.
I set her down, and she runs inside. “Still watching those sixties cartoons?” I chuckle before I embarrass my ass and cry in front of this older woman.
“Better than being glued to tablets playing questionable games with questionable kids around the world.”
“Fair,” I nod.
“Go, Ellis. All will be fine. You got the day off for Thursday?”
I glance over her shoulder, making sure Olive’s out of earshot. “Yeah. Caleb and Keith insisted I take Thursday through Sunday. Get us situated before I have to leave Olive alone with her.”
Personally, I preferred no one ever know about the arrangement I made, but realistically, I knew, in a town this small, questions from at the very least my boss, co-workers, and Mrs. Harriet would be unavoidable.
“Unconventional isn’t always a bad thing, Ellis.”
Coming from the most eccentric grandmother in Eden Ridge, not surprised to have her support. “Feels desperate,” I mumble my confession.
“You have your whole world in there,” she tips her head toward the house. “And life dealt you both a very difficult hand. No shame in how you choose to survive it until you’re both thriving again.”
“Appreciate you, Mrs. Harriet. Gotta head out.”
She squeezes my forearm. “See you tonight.”
I tip my hat and head to work. By ten to noon, I’ve been lost in the day’s tasks. This morning’s trail ride just got back with Carly. I untack the horses with August and Lee, water the horses, and leave them free-roaming in the paddock before everyone heads to the eatery for lunch.
Summer in the PNW is hot as fuck. Normally, I’d find a secluded spot in the field to eat alone, but not this week. Caleb and Harper have really built something impressive here. The eatery, as Harper insists we all call it, is a large bougie food hall with tons of gourmet options, comfortable seating for both community tables and tables for two that line the floor-to-ceiling windows. The woodwork is detailed and damn fine.
And the reason I’m here. I exhale, letting the cool aircon blast relief from the punishing July sun that doesn’t have a cloud in sight blocking its devil rays.
“Ellis,” Keith, Barn manager and my boss, saddles up next to me to fill his plate with Korean BBQ chicken. “Wifey arrive yet?”
“Fucker,” I grumble.
“You’re fired,” he jokes again. Our ongoing rapport since I started last year.
I arrived grumpy, wounded, angry, and barely spoke unless necessary. Keith made me comfortable, but in the last few months has become more than just my boss. He’s a friend.
