My second clue is my pulse picking up.
“Daddy,” Maisie whispers, tugging my sleeve. “She’s really pretty.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. I can see that.”
The woman spots us and walks toward the counter. There’s a calmness to her movements, like she’s used to stepping into places where she doesn’t know anyone and finding her footing fast. She stops in front of me and smiles again.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m looking for Liam O’Sullivan?”
Her voice is warm, confident, and a little breathless, like she walked here quickly. It hits me low in my stomach.
“That’s me,” I say.
She shifts her clipboard to her other arm and offers her hand. “I’m Charlotte Renner. I’m the new event coordinator for the Heart-to-Heart Festival.”
Her grip is soft but confident, and the moment our hands meet, a quiet shock runs through me. Sharp enough to make my stomach clench.
“Thanks for coming by,” I say, trying to sound like a man who didn’t just feel something over a handshake. “I know it’s early.”
“I figured bakery hours start before I’m fully functional, so showing up early seemed respectful.”
I huff out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
Maisie stands next to me now, holding her crayon like she’s ready to fight for my honor if needed.
Charlotte notices and crouches slightly, giving Maisie space. “Hi there. I’m Charlotte.”
Maisie steps half behind me, then peeks out. “Hi.”
Her voice is quiet, a little shy. That alone tells me she likes Charlotte. When Maisie dislikes someone, she makes it extremely obvious.
Charlotte smiles kindly. “I like your drawing.”
Maisie looks down at it like she forgot she was holding it. “It’s Daddy and me.”
“Well,” Charlotte says softly, “you did a great job.”
Maisie tucks her chin down and presses into my side. She’s not embarrassed, she’s assessing, and she’s gentle when she likes someone. Something she didn’t get from me.
She stands and her gaze hooks onto mine, it’s warm and curious, like she’s drawn in too. The hit of it tightens something in my chest.
“I wanted to go over the gala details with you,” she says. “If now works.”
“Now works,” I tell her. “I’m up, the bakery’s awake, and the coffee’s already running through my bloodstream.”
She laughs, and it’s soft and lyrical. “Good. I’ll try not to make this painful.”
“Appreciated.”
She glances up at the menu behind me, and her lips twitch. “Okay, so I have one very small suggestion before we get into the serious stuff.”
I raise a brow. “Which is?”
She points her pen at the chalkboard. “Your menu item names. They’re… very practical.”
“They’re descriptive,” I correct her.
“They’re boring.”
