Her Unexpected Family

“I do, so let’s call an end to this meeting.” He stood, gathered his things and pulled his jacket on. “I’ve got to get the kids home to Tillie. I’m meeting with the wedding planner the next two nights so we can pick things for Christa’s wedding.”

“Marvelous!” Jeannie’s inflection offered full approval. “You’re a good brother, Grant. So many folks don’t bother with family these days. Having family around is a wonderful thing. Enjoy your evening and if they give out samples of cake, bring a few back here tomorrow.”

“Cake is on Friday’s schedule, on my lunch hour,” he told her. “And I haven’t even begun to figure out how Christa’s going to search for a wedding gown. How do you find a wedding gown from overseas? Buy it there and ship it back?”

“I have no idea.” Jeannie frowned. “Maybe she’ll buy it online, have it delivered here then have it altered at the last minute?”

He’d been feeling pretty good about checking out reception spots. Food he understood, and as the man in charge of a multimillion-dollar town highway budget, he had a great head for numbers. But ribbons and lace? Flowers?

No, no, and no.

Circumstances left him little choice, so he drove to day care, picked up two busy children, dealt with Dolly’s backseat anger issues for over five miles and got them home to Aunt Tillie. Then he showered and changed, got back in the car and drove to the Edgewater Inn. He arrived five minutes early, something that didn’t happen often now that he was a single dad. When Emily Gallagher pulled into the lot driving a cherry-red SUV, he realized anew that this woman had spent her life being noticed and didn’t mind it in the least. Just knowing that made him want—no...make that need—to keep a distance. He’d lived that scenario once. He had no intention of living it again.

“You made it.” She smiled a welcome as he walked toward her.

“I did.”

“Excellent. Now, when we get inside the new chef’s name is Henry, but he likes to be called Henri, so when I do that to appease his somewhat crazy artistic nature, don’t laugh. Okay?”

“Well, now I’ll have to laugh because you mentioned it,” he admitted. “If you’d said nothing, I’d have simply assumed that Henri was his name.”

“So I’m safer if I leave you in the dark? If I refuse to spill any insider wedding-planning secrets?”

Hints of gold brightened her brown eyes, and standing this close, he realized tiny points of ivory lightened the darkness around her pupil, giving her a winsome look that matched her bright smile.

Except he was immune to bright smiles and winsome was overrated. “I can handle secrets on a limited basis. The problem with telling me information is that I might mess up everything by blurting it out at the worst possible time.”

“I consider myself forewarned.” She walked to the well-lit formal entrance. He reached out to draw the door open. She had to duck under his arm to go in, and when she straightened on the other side, the dark green wool of her coat brushed his cheek.

The delicious vanilla scent made him think of country kitchens, warm fires and snow-filled nights. When she shifted to face him as they moved down the broad hall, the combination of bright eyes, gorgeous hair, soft scent and subtle lipstick made him long to draw closer.

He couldn’t, but he wanted to and that was a dangerous combination. He had a job to do, two jobs, actually. Raising two kids on his own wasn’t ever going to be a simple task, and running the town’s highway force kept thousands of people safe every day. No way could he afford to have his attention split, but the minute they walked into the inn manager’s office and Emily shrugged off her coat, he realized working with Emily for the next two months wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

His ex-wife had always said redheads should never wear pink.

She was wrong about that and a great many other things, because Emily Gallagher tossed that mane of auburn hair over the shoulder of a hot-pink dress, slipped into the upholstered chair the inn manager offered and withdrew her electronic notepad with finesse. If Chef Henri kept looking at her like that, Grant was tempted to give him a firm right jab to the chin. “Henry?”

The chef turned, obviously miffed by his pronunciation, but Grant didn’t care. At least the guy stopped eyeing Emily.

“Henri.” The chef’s haughty manner was an instant turnoff, but the dishes they sampled were magnificent. For great food and a reasonable price, Grant could deal with Henri’s arrogance if he needed to.

“This raspberry reduction with the burgundy and nut-crusted pork is amazing.” Emily made a note on her tablet. “And those mushroom potatoes? Henri, I’d love to learn how to make those. I don’t suppose you’d share the recipe, would you?”

Henri laughed and didn’t look the least bit humble. “Henri has, of course, studied much to achieve the pinnacles of food, so no, I cannot share the chef’s secrets I’ve acquired, but I will be happy now just knowing you approve.”

The inn manager cleared his throat, as if reminding the chef that the final decision wasn’t up to Emily. The chef redirected his attention to Grant with a slight huff, then waited while Grant sampled a charbroiled steak with mushroom, bread and herb stuffing. “Amazing. This is tricky enough to create for one person, much less re-creating it for over a hundred. You’ve outdone yourself, Henri.”

His compliment must have soothed the cook’s ruffled feathers because he held up a hand. “One moment.” He disappeared, then reappeared with two crystal cups, filled with something warm and sweet. “A treat to sample. This is a delicious way to wrap up a crisp evening, no?”

Grant tasted his, and he was about to sing the dessert’s praises when Emily sighed and held her glass aloft after one spoonful. “Perfection in a cup. The hint of caramel balances the background of cinnamon, and is that nutmeg or allspice I taste?”

Henri beamed and shrugged, ready to carry the secret to his grave.

“Nutmeg,” she decided. She took another taste, then smiled again. “Clever, Henri! And delicious. What did you think, Mr. McCarthy?”

Right now having her use his full name seemed preposterous. The inn manager sent him an odd look. “Grant, please. We’ll be working together for some time, so of course first names are in order.”

She sent him an almost impudent look, but held her tongue. “This bread pudding, Grant.” She took one more taste and languished over it, and he was pretty sure she did it on purpose. “Amazing, right?”

“One of the best desserts I’ve ever had, Henri. A hint of French to soften the simplicity of Old English.”

Henri’s smile widened. “That is exactly what I was looking for! Old, new, French, English, American blended as one.”

“Henri, I know you’ve got other things to do this evening to get ready for tomorrow’s banquet. Thank you.” The inn manager motioned to a small table nearby. “If you would both sit here, I can go over the options with a pricing sheet, and then print up an actual price list for Captain McCarthy’s wedding if you book with us.”

By the time they’d finished, they had exactly ten minutes to get to the next appointment, a hillside vineyard and party house overlooking the southern end of the lake. Grant followed Emily there, parked next to her then accompanied her into the vineyard.

He knew it was wrong instantly. Too new, too garish, too many lights, not enough charm. When they’d finished the tasting and Emily cut them loose quickly, he knew she understood. They got to her car before she spoke. “Good call on that. First, you kept your opinion to yourself and that’s a favor to me because I have to work with these folks as long as I’m here, working at Kate & Company. Thank you for being discreet.”

As long as she was here? He leaned one hand against her car. “You’re welcome. I do have manners most of the time,” he told her. “What do you mean, as long as you’re here? Are you leaving?” he asked. “The correct answer would be no, because if you leave in the middle of these wedding plans, I’m toast.”

“I’ll be here to see Christa’s wedding through.” She opened the back door and tucked her notebook inside her bag before she turned back.

“But you’re not staying here? In Grace Haven?” It shouldn’t surprise him. Emily had big city written all over her.

She met his gaze frankly. “There aren’t a lot of jobs for clothing buyers in Grace Haven.”

He frowned. “But you have a job with Kate & Company.”

“Currently, yes. But once Dad’s on the mend, I think Kimberly can handle this with one hand tied behind her back. She’s an absolute whiz with event planning. My guess is she won’t need her little sister hanging around.” She tipped her gaze up to the crystal clear sky, then sighed with appreciation. “Doesn’t looking up at the vastness of the night sky just fill you with wonder? You don’t get views like this in the city.”

It didn’t fill him with wonder because he was too busy looking down, but he followed her gaze to the pinpoints of galactic sparkle and agreed. “Amazing.”

“Wondrous, right? Anyway.” She shrugged lightly. “Taking over Mom’s business is perfect for Kimberly. She’s spent her life grooming herself for this, and I’m not about to step on her toes. But in the meantime, I’m here to help so that Mom and Dad have no worries. Living at home gives me zero expenses, so I can plan my next steps. If I end up in a big city, the cost of living gets absolutely crazy.”

“I see.” He’d lived life with a discontented woman once. He’d dealt with the result, too, and he wasn’t about to take that risk again. “Well, I’m glad you’re here to guide me through the whole process.”

“Me, too.” The sincerity of her tone warmed him, and once again he was drawn, but she’d just cemented reasons to resist the attraction. He was staying. She was leaving. End of story. “Tomorrow we’ll stop at the Lodge at Fairhaven. They’re new, but they do a great job.”

“That’s where my cousin’s wedding was, wasn’t it?”

“You don’t remember?” She made a face as he swung her car door open. “It couldn’t have been all that good if you don’t remember it from last spring.”

“Dolly was sick.” He shrugged. “When you’re doing this stuff on your own and you get a sick kid, you opt out of the party and stay home.”

“My dad was like that, too. All about priorities.”

“Your father’s a good guy.” Grant lowered his voice, unsure how to approach the next subject. “I’m glad he’s doing better, but I was sorry to hear about the cancer. I lost my mom to breast cancer and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”