While the girls are out shopping, I go over the designs Vincent approved, then spend the morning putting the finishing touches on the six I just completed. The hours have been long, but I’ve stayed on top of my timeline, making sure no detail is missed.
As soon as I lock the door to the shop, my phone rings.
“Hey, babe,” I say, walking across the lawn to the house. “Are you girls on your way home?”
“She took Hannah!” Elle’s voice is raw with panic.
My heart drops. The speed with which my mind jumps to the worst-case scenario is frightening.
“Who took Hannah?” I ask, doing my best to remain calm. “Elle, who took her?”
“Meghan,” she replies, her words rushed.
Relief washes over me, and I release the breath I was holding. "Tell me exactly what happened."
I listen intently as she recounts the whole story.
“Tina and Beth found most of the pearls,” she adds, sounding hopeful. “If we get her the pearls, will she give us Hannah back?”
I smile, feeling a surge of tenderness for this woman. “Sweetie, this isn’t a kidnapping,” I say, trying to center both of us. “Hannah isn’t being held for ransom. She’ll be fine.”
“I'm sorry," she says, her voice cracking. "That was stupid. Of course she's fine. She's with her mom.”
“Elle,” I say calmly, “I’m sorry you had to endure one of Meghan’s temper tantrums.”
Her silence hangs in the air for a moment before she speaks again. “Now that she knows about us... her tantrums might get worse.”
"Let me call her," I say, an idea forming in my head. "I'll ask her to keep Hannah for the night. That guarantees she'll bring her back home before dinner."
"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice trembling. The emotion is rising fast, and it hurts to hear her like this.
"I'm positive," I assure her.
***
I'm covered in sawdust, so as soon as Elle and I hang up, I make a beeline for the bathroom to shower before calling Meghan. I pull my shirt over my head, drop it on the floor, and step out of my boots. Just as I unbutton my jeans, the doorbell starts ringing—insistently.
Whoever's out there isn't happy.
"Meghan," I grunt.
I inhale sharply before opening the door, bracing myself for a fight.
“Daddy!” Hannah exclaims the moment she sees me.
I glance at Meghan. She's so angry her nostrils are flared, and she's huffing quietly, trying—and failing—to rein in her temper.
“Hi, princess,” I say, bending to kiss the top of Hannah's head. “Why don’t you go inside and finish picking up your room like we talked about this morning?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“I’m going to talk to your mom for a bit.”
“Bye, Mommy,” Hannah says, wrapping her arms around Meghan’s hips. “I love you!”
“I love you too, Hannah Banana,” Meghan says, never breaking eye contact with me.
Meghan steps inside the foyer, shutting the door behind her a little harder than necessary. I stand there, barefoot, shirtless, my jeans still unbuttoned. Sawdust clings to the denim around my knees and the creases of my waistband, and there’s still a faint trace of cedar and sun-warmed wood on my skin. I run a hand through my hair, shaking out the last bits of dust.
