“We made chili.” Felicity looked up at me and gave me a smile. “And macaroni.”

“Macarons,” said Frannie from the stove with exaggerated French pronunciation. “And if you don’t stop calling them macaroni, I’m never coming over to make them again.”

From the way the girls all giggled at once, which was my favorite sound in the world, I got the feeling it was already some kind of joke between them. My mood lifted further. “Well, whatever it is, it smells so good my belly sounds like a bear.”

Felicity pressed her ear to my stomach. “It does. You’re right.” Then she looked over at Frannie. “Did you know my dad has hair on his belly?”

Frannie burst out laughing while I considered strangling my middle child. “Thanks, Mavis. Have I mentioned you have a goofy haircut yet today?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Well, you do. Now let me get my boots and coat off so I can eat, okay?”

“Okay.”

I yanked off my boots and left them on the back hall rug next to four other pairs, tossed my gloves and hat on the little bench near the door, and hung up my coat. While I was out of sight, I ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to repair the damage done by wearing a hat for two hours.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Winnie was there wanting a hug. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hey you. Long time, no see.” I picked her up, squeezing her against my chest. Over her shoulder, I surveyed the scene in disbelief. The kitchen was definitely cleaner than I’d left it this morning. No one was looking at a screen. A platter of pale yellow macarons was on the kitchen counter, where Millie was sitting.

“These things are amazing,” she told me, her mouth full. “And they’re gluten-free! We used almond flour.”

“I had almond flour?” I asked, surprised.

“Winnie and I stopped at the store on the way here,” said Frannie as she stirred the chili.

My stomach growled again. “Let me know what I owe you for groceries.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She winked at me over one shoulder, making my nether regions tingle.

“Daddy, did you know that macarons have feet?” Winnie asked, making Frannie laugh.

“Imagine that,” I said, setting her down. “You girls ate dinner already?”

Millie nodded, rolling her eyes. “Yes, and did my homework and practiced piano.”

Frannie’s back was to me, and I watched, a little starstruck, as she ladled chili into a bowl. “Where are my real daughters and who are these imposters?” I asked.

She turned to face me, a smile on her face and a steaming bowl in her hands. “Here. This is for you.”

“Thanks. It looks awesome.” Taking it from her, I went around the counter and slid onto the seat next to Millie.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Frannie asked, setting a napkin and spoon in front of me.

What I really wanted was a beer, but I thought I’d better not since I was going to have to drive her home. “Maybe some water, but I can get it.” I started to get up again.

“I’ve got it. Sit.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “You just got here, and that drive had to be stressful.”

“It was.” Forgetting how hungry I was for a moment, I watched her take a glass from the cupboard and fill it, looking perfectly at home in our kitchen. She set the water in front of me as Winnie and Felicity bounced around the kitchen, telling me about all the cooking they’d done.

“I got to help slice the bell peppers,” Felicity said proudly. “And there’s pumpkin in the chili!”

“I swifted the flour,” announced Winnie.

“Sifted,” corrected Frannie.

“And I separated the egg yolks from the whites for the macarons, but I messed up the first couple and wasted some eggs,” Millie said, her expression guilty.

“That’s okay, Millie.” Frannie leaned her elbows on the counter across from us and smiled at my oldest. “It’s tricky and takes practice. I used to mess that up all the time too. And you did a great job making sure the batter was mixed enough. Our meringue was perfect, and that’s quite a feat for your first time.” She’d changed out of her work shirt and was wearing a loose-fitting gray top that sort of fell off one shoulder, revealing something white and lacy underneath.

Quickly, I dropped my eyes to my food and concentrated on eating. In fact, I scarfed down the first bowl of chili Frannie had given me so fast I burned my tongue, but I didn’t care. It was hot and delicious, thick with chicken and vegetables.

“Daddy, can we watch Andy Mack?” Millie asked, hopping down from her chair. “Frannie said we had to wait until you got home to have screen time.”

I nodded to the girls. “It’s okay.”

The kids wandered into the front room and turned on the TV while I scraped the bottom of my bowl. When every last bite was gone, I set down my spoon and put my hands on my stomach. “God, that was good.”

“There’s more,” Frannie offered.

“Sold.” Grabbing my empty bowl, I slid off my chair and went around the counter. “One more bowl and then I’ll drive you home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to drive me home,” she said as I moved past her to the stove, taking care not to let my body brush against hers.

“I promised your mother I would.” I took the top off the pot of chili and scooped more into my bowl. “And the driving’s bad. I wouldn’t feel right putting you out on the roads, especially not when you’ve done so much for me today.” Although the last thing I wanted to do was hit the roads again. I’d have to take the girls with me, since the blizzard made the drive time too long to leave them alone.

“It was no big deal. I enjoyed it. My days can be pretty monotonous at the desk, especially in the winter when the inn gets slow.”

I put the top back on the pot and moved around her again, taking my chair at the counter. “Do you like working reception? Is there another job you’re interested in at Cloverleigh?”

She shrugged and leaned on the counter again. “Chloe offered to let me manage the Traverse City tasting room, but I actually don’t know that much about the wine. I’m better off at the inn. I like working with food, especially baking.”

“From what I hear, you’re amazing at it—and from what I taste, of course. Have you ever thought about opening a bakery?”

Her eyes dropped to her hands. “A little.”

“And?”

She didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. It takes a lot of time and money to start a business, and I’m not very … adventurous. I don’t think I’d make a very good entrepreneur.”

“I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” I told her.

“Really?” She looked up and smiled softly, making my heart skip a few beats.

“Really.”

“I guess I could talk to my dad,” she said with a sigh. “But my mother would have a problem with it.”

“Why?”

She straightened up and leaned back against the island, rolling her eyes a little. “It’s not a big deal, really, but I was born with a heart defect that puts me at a slightly higher risk for a heart attack, believe it or not, so she’s always worried about stress.”