There’s something building between us, it’s slow but steady, and I can feel it settling in. I don’t know how this will work out but being here with him and this sweet kid who’s already getting to me more than she should… it feels like the start of something.
For him, for me, for all of us, and the thought doesn’t scare me, not even a little.
Chapter 3
Liam
By the timethe morning rush dies down, I am already behind on the day. There is a stack of invoices on my desk, three festival-related emails blinking at me from my phone, and a six-year-old who keeps disappearing under the counter.
“Maisie,” I call, crouching to see where she went. “Where are you?”
A tiny hand shoots up from behind the display case. “Here.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing usually means trouble,” I remind her.
“It’s not trouble, Daddy, it's a secret.”
That does not help my nerves even a little. “Can you tell me the secret?”
She shakes her head reluctantly. “Not yet. It’s still cooking.”
I blink. “Cooking?”
“Yes. Cooking.”
I watch her for a second, trying to decide how worried I should be. She straightens her dress like she has somewhere important to be and marches toward the back before I can stop her.
“Maisie.”
She pauses, turns, and gives me her most innocent expression. “Yes, Daddy?”
“What are you cooking?”
“It is not food cooking,” she says, as if I am the one who should know better. “It is… idea cooking.”
Idea cooking. Right. I rub the back of my neck. “Okay. But maybe stay where I can see you, alright?”
She nods and trots to the prep area, humming a little tune that clearly means she thinks she’s on a secret mission.
I should follow her. I know that. Instead, I finish wiping the counter and pretend everything is normal. It isn’t, because Charlotte exists now and apparently has rearranged the inside of my skull.
I am reorganizing the pastry case when I notice a small yellow piece of paper lying on the corner of the counter. It has a unicorn sticker on it. That is my first warning.
I pick it up.
The handwriting is large and uneven, written with a purple crayon.
Dear Charlit,
Can you come to the back and help me with a cookie test?
Love,
Maisie
