Her cheeks went a little pink. “It’s nothing.”

“Right now, it’s actually everything. Thanks, Frannie.”

Blushing deeper, she smiled at me once more before leaving my office.

I tried not to look at her butt as she left, but her black pants were kind of tight and her shirt was tucked in. She had a great little figure—petite but curvy.

Alone again, I got to work, but Frannie’s smile stayed on my mind throughout the morning. And her pink cheeks. And her cute little ass.

Jesus, what was wrong with me? She was practically a kid, for chrissake. No way could she even be thirty, and soon I’d be pushing forty. And she had an innocence about her that made me feel even worse … yet it also made her more appealing.

For fuck’s sake. Stop it, you perv. She’s doing you a huge favor and doesn’t need you drooling over her like a starving dog. It’s not her problem you haven’t had sex in over a year.

Truth—I couldn’t even remember the last time Carla and I had done it. The sex had been so blah for so long, so disconnected and rote, that neither of us had bothered to initiate it much toward the end.

But that didn’t make it okay for me to get all worked up over Frannie. Even if she did seem like she might be a hell of a lot of fun in bed. Playful. Energetic. Eager to please.

Christ, MacAllister. Enough.

If ever there was a girl off limits, it was Frannie Sawyer. Shifting in my chair, I adjusted the crotch of my pants and put her out of my head.

Frannie

“Hi, Winnie!” I gave her a smile, my heart thumping hard at the sight of Mack holding his little girl’s mittened hand as they walked through the lobby. “How was school?”

“Good,” she said.

“My goodness, you’re getting big.” My mother shook her head as Mack brought his daughter around the desk. “You’re going to be as tall as Frannie soon!”

I groaned. “She probably will. Millie only has another couple inches to go.”

“Good things come in small packages.” Mack winked at me, and my belly fluttered. He had the most beautiful deep blue eyes.

“Would you like to come up to my apartment for lunch, Winnie?” I asked.

“Sure!” She grinned happily.

“Great. You can help me make it.” I held out my hand and she dropped her dad’s to take mine. Then I looked at Mack. “Can I bring you something? A sandwich? Soup?”

He looked guilty. “I’ll probably work through lunch.”

“You shouldn’t work through lunch,” my mother scolded. “Let Frannie bring you something.”

“That’s okay.” He gave me a tired smile and put a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, though. For everything. You’re an angel.”

He was touching me. He’d called me an angel. I could hardly speak. “You’re welcome.”

Quickly, I turned and led Winnie out from behind the desk and across the lobby toward the stairs to my suite, so he wouldn’t see the goofy grin on my face.

I lived above the inn’s garage in an apartment my mother liked to refer to as the “old carriage house,” which made it sound bigger and fancier than it was. “Did you hear Mrs. Ingersoll broke her leg?” I asked Winnie.

“Yes,” she said, trudging up the stairs next to me. “What does it feel like to break your leg?”

“I don’t know.” I unlocked my door and pushed it open. “I’ve never had any broken bones.”

“Me neither,” she said as we went in.

My place wasn’t very big, but it was enough room for me. My bedroom and bathroom were off to the right, and the kitchen was open to the living room. I did have a tiny fireplace, which I loved, and my oversized couch was crazy comfortable.

“Need to use the bathroom?” I asked Winnie.

She shrugged off her backpack and dropped it to the floor. “No. Is this where you live?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

She nodded. “It’s like a doll house.”

I laughed. “It is kind of like a doll house. A little bigger, maybe, but not much. Are you hungry?

“Yes.”

“Me too. Let’s see what we can find.”

In the kitchen, Winnie and I opened my fridge and took out a big container of chicken noodle soup I’d made over the weekend. In my tiny pantry, she found some Ritz crackers, and counted out four for each of us while I rinsed and sliced an apple.

When everything was ready, we sat at the counter next to each other. While we ate, I asked Winnie about school, about her sisters, and as usual, I snuck in a question or two about her dad. That was how I’d learned that he wasn’t a very good cook and they were used to eating a lot of chicken nuggets and fish sticks for dinner, that he never got mad when Winnie wet the bed, and that he was okay at brushing hair but terrible at styling it. Today I learned that over the weekend, he’d accidentally turned everyone’s white socks pink, even his own.

I laughed. “Did something red get in the white load of laundry?”

She slurped her soup. “I don’t know.”

After lunch, I asked Winnie if she’d ever had a macaron.

“What are those?” she asked, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

I gasped in mock horror as I stood, collecting our bowls. “What are those? You mean you’ve never had a macaron?”

“No.” She smiled and asked hopefully, “Is it a treat?”

“It’s only the most beautiful, most fancy treat ever!” I carried our dishes to the sink and grabbed the bakery box sitting on the counter. Inside were a few macarons I’d set aside Saturday when preparing for the Radley wedding. I had hazelnut, white chocolate malt, and rosewater cream. “Peek into this box.”

I set it in front of her and she leaned over to look inside. “Ooooh! Can I have one?”

“Sure. Which one would you like?”

“The pink,” she said, pointing at the rosewater cream.

“Good choice.” I took one from the box and put it on a plate for her, along with a white chocolate malt for me.

“Did you make them?” Winnie asked.

“I sure did. I can make about twenty different colors and flavors, and I’m always testing out new ones.”

“Really? Can you make a gold one? That’s the Hufflepuff color.” She tucked her legs underneath her on the stool and picked up the pink macaron.

“Yes. It’s lemon chiffon, another one of my favorites.” I took a tiny bite of the white chocolate malt, thinking again about what Mrs. Radley had said to me Saturday night about my own business. Since then, her offer to discuss the possibility had crossed my mind a hundred times. I hoped she’d get in touch.

Winnie gobbled hers up and licked her fingers. “Mmmm. Can you teach me how to make them?”

“Well, they’re a little complicated and take a lot of practice. But we can work on it. Tell you what—if you’re a good girl and take a little rest now that you’re done with your treat, we’ll make some lemon chiffon macarons at your house this afternoon when your sisters get home, okay?”

She nodded eagerly, her mouth full. “Can I watch Sofia the First when I rest?”