Or so they think.
A temporary solution that’s plastered over their wounds until they inevitably bleed through because I’m no replacement for a missing mother and a criminal father.
I peer around Main Street, observing as groups set up tents and speed walk to and from their cars, carrying crates and boxes to their designated Saturday market spots lining the sidewalks on both sides of the street. The early-morning sun beats down,the warmth soaking into my bones and easing the tension seizing my muscles after being trapped on Lindenvale Hill.
At least they lengthened my leash a little.
I tear my gaze away from the busy street and lower myself to peer at Jess through the passenger door. “Where are we going? I thought we were heading to Cascade Springs?”
Jess slides her sunglasses onto her head and turns off the ignition, pointing at a building a few down from where we parked. “We are, but we’re stopping at The Honey Hut. We need coffee for the drive.”
She steps out and shuts the driver’s side door, the noise echoing off the row of shops in front of us. She opens the back door to let Tristan out of the back seat while I open Elena’s.
She sits in her car seat with her headphones on, her fingers tapping her tablet screen aggressively in an intense game ofFruit Ninjathat kept her silent the entire ride besides the few angry puffs of air that slipped past her pouty lips.
“Let’s go, Little Miss. You’ll have an hour’s drive to try and beat your high score.” I chuckle, reaching over her to unclasp the seat belt.
Elena huffs in defeat, pulling her headphones off and ruffling the two French braids I gave her this morning.
She tosses the tablet into the middle seat and crosses her arms. “It’s Bren’s high score. He stole my tablet, and I haven’t been able to beat him.” Placing one hand in mine, she jumps out of the vehicle, her eyes locking on the buildings in front of us. “Oooh, are we going to The Honey Hut?”
Flying fruit forgotten, Elena’s sparkly sneakers drum on the pavement in pure excitement that her little body can’t contain. She doesn’t let go of my hand; she tugs me along, and we join her brother and Jess on the sidewalk.
Her infectious energy makes me smile.
And damn does it feel good to be out of that house and off the property.
“Miss Taryn,” Elena’s excitement holds my attention, “you’ll get to meet Addie!”
My focus shifts from the little girl gripping my hand to Jess. “Who’s Addie?”
“Adelaide is one of the reasons I wanted to stop here before we head out.” She shrugs. “I figured you might need a friend when I leave in a few days. She’s Cameron’s best friend, and we’ve been friends since he introduced us.”
My brow furrows. “She works at The Honey Hut?”
We stroll down the walkway, Elena pouncing on the sidewalk, attempting to jump over the lines separating the concrete. I gasp in surprise as her petite body jerks mine forward, her momentum causing me to lose my balance and knock into Tristan next to me. I apologize, but he takes a step away from me and picks up his speed, keeping his head down.
Jess shakes her head. “She owns it.”
My eyes widen. “She owns it?”
I remember Harrison Crock telling me to check The Honey Hut for a job. One of the few things I remember that night before the twins roofied me.
I’m pretty sure I’m making more money now, being a nanny held captive by three brothers, than I ever would’ve made with a job like that. Still, I probably would’ve gone in and asked for a job anyway if things had turned out differently—had I woken up that following day still needing a job rather than instantly having one I never wanted.
“She used to spend every summer here with her grandmother, Sylvia. Her grandmother started The Honey Hut in the late ‘90s…I think. But she died two summers ago. Adelaide was left with everything and moved here from Seattle to continue running the business.”
We stop in front of a shop, its charcoal exterior contrasting with the cream and light-colored storefronts around it. A vintage bakery sign and black-and-white striped awning hang over the sidewalk, concealing us in the shade.
The two large windows facing the street feature a giant decal of a honey wand dripping onto a croissant. There are tall pots of various flowers and some two-person wooden tables, one of which is occupied by an elderly man sipping a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.
“Wow.” My eyes scan the bakery storefront again. “This place looks remarkable for being around since the ‘90s.”
Elena jumps up and down, nearly pulling my shoulder out of the socket.
“Her grandmother had all these big ideas for what she wanted it to look like, but never got the chance to remodel. After Adelaide took over, she put a lot of money into renovations and opened it back up a few months later.”
“What’s the inspiration behind the name?” I ask curiously.
