I laughed. “Frannie’s got a soft heart. But I hear you—my daughters are going to break me as well. Probably with the swear jar.”

Frannie clucked her tongue and reached for Winifred’s hand. “Come on, Winnie. We don’t have to take this abuse.”

“Bye,” I called as they walked out hand in hand. “Thank you!”

Over her shoulder, Frannie stuck her tongue out at me. But then she winked, and my chest felt tight.

Sawyer came toward me and sat down in one of the chairs across from my desk, launching into his financial concerns about purchasing the new bottling lines and wondering what I thought about Chloe’s distillery idea, then complaining about how his wife was always nagging at him to slow down and consider retirement.

I heard him, but in all honesty my thoughts were on Frannie. Was she okay driving in this snow? Was the house clean enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed? Had I left any piles of my underwear folded on the dining room table?

As the afternoon hours dragged by, the snow falling faster and heavier, I kept wondering what everyone was doing. Had the girls finished their homework? Had Millie practiced piano? Had Felicity conned her way into more iPad time? Around four thirty, I got a text from Frannie.

Making dinner and dessert.

A few seconds later, the message was followed by a series of pictures showing each of the girls in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, grins on their faces, hands busy with kitchen tools. Apparently, I owned a mixer.

Then there was one photo showing something simmering in a big pot on the stove—was it chili? Just looking at it warmed my belly.

Wow. Is that really happening in my kitchen?

It is! And your girls are doing all the work. Almost. :)

I didn’t want to be at work anymore. I wanted to be home with them, hanging out in the kitchen and smelling that chili, drinking a beer and listening to my daughters laugh. We never had fun like that on school nights, which always felt to me like a list of things to tick off—homework, dinner, piano, reading, baths, bed. Piano on Tuesdays. Therapy every other Wednesday. Ballet on Thursdays.

Homework done? I asked, feeling a bit like a curmudgeon.

Yes. And Millie says to tell you she practiced piano already, and Felicity wants you to know she read two chapters in her book.

Sounds like you have everything under control. Was the driving bad?

Roads were slippery. I went slow. Be careful!!

I assured her I would and tried to get a few more things done at my desk, but found it hard to concentrate. I was about to call it a day when my phone vibrated.

Ryan Woods calling, it said on the screen.

I smiled and picked it up. “I thought you were dead, asshole.”

Woods laughed. “Nah. Just busy.”

“I bet. How’s everything going with the wedding plans?”

“Pretty good. Although what the fuck do I know?”

“You ready to do this thing?”

“Yeah. That, I know.”

I laughed. “Good.”

Woods was a buddy from the Marines, although by now he was like a brother to me. We’d been deployed together in Afghanistan and had remained tight. Like me, he’d struggled to adjust to his old life once he got back for good, and I got him a job at Cloverleigh as well as a place to live. The house had been a mess before he moved in and refurbished it.

Despite being busy, he’d found time to fall in love with Stella Devine, the granddaughter of Mrs. Gardner next door. She’d come up from Detroit for a visit, Woods had taken one look at her and that was that. When he moved down to Detroit to be with her, the girls and I moved into the house. He and Stella were getting married at Cloverleigh in a few weeks. I was the best man.

Hopefully I wouldn’t jinx him.

“So when are you coming up?” I asked. “Am I supposed to be planning some kind of bachelor night?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “Neither Stella nor I want anything like that. I’d settle for a few beers somewhere. We’re coming up on the Wednesday before the wedding, and Thursday is the day Stella and her sisters are doing some kind of all-day girl thing, so maybe we can hang out that night.”

“Done,” I said. “My parents get in that day, and God knows I’ll need to escape the house. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” He lowered his voice. “All this wedding shit is driving me crazy. I’m trying to be interested and involved, but Jesus fuck.”

I laughed. “I can imagine.”

“And the cost—my God, we want to pay for everything ourselves, but I had no idea how expensive things are. And her sister Emme, who’s a wedding planner, has talked her into all these extras. It’s insanity. Stella has lost her mind, I swear.”

“Well, we knew that. She’s marrying you, isn’t she?”

He laughed. “Fuck off.”

“I’d better go. We’re getting a ton of snow tonight,” I told him. “The roads will probably be bad.”

“Yeah, we’re getting some here too, but not like you guys are up there. Can’t say I miss it.”

We hung up, and I packed it in for the night. Up at reception, I said goodbye to Frannie’s mom, who looked anxious.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, knotting her hands together. “I’ve been texting Frannie. It’s so bad out there, I don’t want her to drive in the dark. The roads will be icy.”

“I’ll bring her back, Daphne,” I assured her. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’d send John to come get her, but I worry that his eyesight isn’t great for night driving.”

“No problem. Really. My tires are good in the snow, and it’s a short ride.”

She smiled in relief. “Thanks, Mack. You have daughters, so you know how it is.”

“I do. Have a good night.”

But as I hurried out to the parking lot and impatiently brushed off my car, I realized it wasn’t only my daughters I was so eager to get home and see—it was her daughter too.

Mack

The blizzard was in full force. The roads were awful, and traffic crawled. Normally, the ride between my house and Cloverleigh was only about fifteen minutes, but today it took nearly two white-knuckled, curse-muttering hours. Not only did the snow and ice slow me down, but twice I had to pull over and help out other drivers. One lady had gotten herself stuck in a ditch, and some guy had spun out onto the shoulder trying to take a curve too quickly.

By the time I pulled into the garage at the back of the property where we lived, Frannie’s little Volkswagen was pretty well buried at the curb, and I was tense and irritated and starving.

But the moment I stepped through the back door, the smell took the edge off my mood. My stomach rumbled with anticipation as I inhaled.

“Daddy!” Felicity shouted, running over to me. “You’re home!” She wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed.

I hugged her back without telling her to wait so I could take off my coat and boots and gloves, even though I was getting snow on the floor. Whenever I was late, the girls reacted this way, and I often wondered if part of it was worry I might not come home—if I’d abandon them the way their mother essentially had. “I’m home. Wow, it smells good in here.”