How many times had I heard that question in my life—a thousand? A million? My mother put it to me constantly, regarding any number of things she wasn’t comfortable with me doing. And I could have answered any number of ways.

Because I’m an adult and want to make my own decisions? Because I’m tired of being treated like I’m made of glass? Because I don’t want to end up with zero mistakes and a thousand regrets?

But I never said those things.

Deep down, I knew that my parents only sheltered me because they loved me so much, and I couldn’t really complain about anything. I loved the farm and the inn and the nearby small town of Hadley Harbor—I couldn’t really imagine myself living anywhere else. I had my own suite with plenty of privacy, and there was nothing I needed that I lacked. My job at reception wasn’t hard, my hours gave me plenty of time to bake, and I liked meeting new people, greeting the guests, showing off everything we offered. I knew this place like the back of my hand.

Of course, it might have been nice to have a few more friends my age, but we lived in a rural area without much economic or social opportunity for young people, especially during the winter. And because I’d missed so much school and gotten behind due to surgeries and hospital stays—not to mention my parents’ fears about infection—my mother had decided to homeschool me after second grade, so I didn’t have any childhood besties to call up, either.

But I had my parents and my sisters and the people I worked with. I’d even had a few flings during the summer tourist season, when the inn and the town were packed with people, and I definitely wasn’t the innocent lamb my parents thought I was. If I sometimes felt a little lonely, I supposed it was a small price to pay for having such a comfortable life.

Still.

I slipped my hand into the pocket of my black work pants and pulled out the business card I’d tucked in there earlier.

Declan MacAllister.

It would be nice to have someone to share it with.

Mack

My alarm went off at six-fifteen as usual, and I jumped into the shower. By six-thirty I was dressed for work and heading upstairs to wake the girls.

It had taken me a while, but I finally had the school morning routine down pat, and today went off with downright military precision.

Millie and Felicity showered at night and laid their clothing out before going to bed, so all I had to do was make sure they were fully awake before rousing Winifred. She could be slow to wake up, so I always helped her get out of her pajamas and into her school outfit. Like her sisters, she set her clothes out the night before, so it was usually a pretty quick thing, especially since she’d stopped wetting the bed.

By six-forty-five, I was downstairs putting breakfast on the table and guzzling coffee. By seven, the girls were eating while I packed snacks, water bottles, and cut the crusts off sandwiches, one peanut butter and jelly on wheat, one almond butter and honey on gluten-free white. (Why Millie still insisted on eating gluten-free these days was beyond me—it had been her mother’s thing. Did it make her feel closer to her mom somehow?) Winnie would eat at home with the sitter after preschool.

By seven-fifteen, backpacks and boots were lined up by the door and the kids were upstairs brushing their teeth. By seven-thirty, we were bundled up at the bus stop. By seven-forty, I’d kissed them all good-bye, told them I loved them, and to have a good day. I could tell by the look on Millie’s face today that she wasn’t going to stand for such public displays of affection much longer, but I planned to torture her as long as I could. They had no mother around, no grandparents (since my folks had retired to Arizona years ago and Carla’s lived in Georgia), and my sister Jodie’s family lived two hours away in Petoskey. So it was up to me to make sure those girls knew how loved they were, and if I fucked up every other part of being a single parent, I was not going to fail at that. It wasn’t their fault their mother and I couldn’t make things work.

By eight, I was on my way to Cloverleigh, feeling pretty damn smug. No one had cried, fought, or spilled their juice this morning. No one had reminded me at the last minute about a permission slip I’d forgotten to sign or money I’d forgotten to send in or asked me to please chaperone a field trip I didn’t want to go on, and I was like ninety-nine percent sure all of them had brushed their teeth. I hadn’t managed to get Felicity new boots yet, but I had found Winifred’s missing mitten.

“Fuck yeah, I’m awesome,” I said to myself, sipping from a travel mug Felicity had gotten me for Christmas with a picture of a Petoskey stone on it that said Dad, You Rock.

Taking another sip from the mug, I remembered how surprised I’d been when each of the girls had handed me a gift perfectly wrapped with holiday paper I didn’t recognize. How had they gone shopping for presents without me?

Later, Felicity let it spill that Frannie Sawyer had helped them pick out a couple little gifts for me online one afternoon while she was watching them. She’d had them shipped to her, then brought them over to be wrapped and placed under the tree. Frannie was like that, quick to step in when someone needed something, and always with a smile on her face. It was Frannie who’d offered to cut back her hours at the inn last summer in order to help me out with childcare after Carla took off. I’d nearly fallen to my knees with gratitude. She’d been a godsend.

At Christmas, I’d had them pick out a box of chocolates for her, which they gave to her at the staff holiday party. That was the night she’d given me the small sewing kit, and I’d felt guilty I hadn’t put my name on the card with the chocolates.

She’d looked even prettier than usual that night, and she’d smelled good too. I remembered impulsively hugging her (after a couple beers, no doubt) and thinking how long it had been since I’d had my arms around a woman, or held one close enough to catch the scent of her neck as she hugged me back. I didn’t have any female friends outside work, and I certainly didn’t date. Being that close to Frannie had been a shock to my senses, and I’d let her go quickly before my body betrayed my thoughts, which were something along the lines of Hey, I know you’re the boss’s daughter and the nanny (also my kids are right over there), but you smell amazing and your body looks perfect in that dress and I haven’t gotten laid in a reallllly long time, so what do you say we sneak into my office and fuck? I promise it will be quick, probably shamefully so, and not at all awkward to see you at work on Monday. Thanks.

Later that evening, she’d had the idea to take the kids for a ride in Cloverleigh’s old-fashioned horse-drawn sleigh. It was a refurbished antique Portland, with a curved dash and one single, red velvet-lined seat onto which the five of us squeezed, our laps covered with thick wool blankets. Somehow she’d ended up wedged in right next to me, and the scent of her perfume as well as the feel of her leg alongside mine kept me warm even as our noses and fingers and toes grew numb from cold.

Long after I’d taken the kids home and said goodnight, I lay in my bed thinking about her. I could still hear her laughing right along with the girls, see the roses in her cheeks and the snowflakes clinging to her long, wavy hair. It had made me wish she was still there next to me. How long had it been since I’d had someone warm and soft and sexy to mess around with in the dark?