Page 56 of A Simple Life

“I know what that is. I know lots of bad words, but Momma says I can’t use them. You were very polite to stop,” she informed me. “Ass isn’t as bad because it’s short for donkey, but we don’t say it in public.”

I bit back my grin. “You’re right, Pumpkin.”

She nodded. “Momma, can I be excused until dessert? I need to check my dolls.”

“Of course, baby.”

Abby wiped her mouth, placing her napkin on the table and sliding off the chair. I heard her run down the short hall, then start talking to her dolls.

“She is very grown up.”

Quinn sighed. “Preston demanded it.”

“He was hard on the two of you.”

“He was. But if that’s all she took away from our time with him, I’m glad. She acts more like a little girl now instead of a small adult. I love hearing her laugh. It took a long time before she felt free enough to do so.”

“And you?”

“It took me a long time to smile again and really mean it.” She stood, picking up her plate, then stopping by my chair. She bent and pressed a sweet kiss to my forehead. “You have helped a lot with that.”

“You’ve done the same.”

She opened the oven door. “Well then, Mr. Elliott, I’m about to blow your world wide open. When you taste this peach cobbler, you won’t stop smiling for days.”

“Where’d you get the peaches?”

“Clingstone Farms. I couldn’t believe they had some already.”

“Everything is early this year.”

“I bought a huge basket of tomatoes too. I decided BLTs were on the menu. I bought some local seven-grain bread, and with my homemade mayo and the pepper bacon I did, we sold out by one.”

“Awesome.”

“I want to do that,” she said as she scooped the cobbler into bowls. She lifted her eyebrow at me in a silent question after two large spoonfuls. I shook my head, and with a grin, she added more.

“Do what?”

“More farm to table. Make a special with what I get that day or week. Fresh produce, homemade goods from the locals. Feature them. We don’t get a lot of tourists, but today, I had a family come in, passing through town. By the time they finished their lunch, they were on their way to Clingstone and to the bakery.”

“That’s a great idea.”

She nodded. “I need to meet these people, talk to them.”

“I can help.”

“What?”

I grasped her hand. “I know these people. They’re my neighbors. Some are friends. We all have a common goal. To make our livelihood with the land. I can introduce you. Smooth the way. Help with negotiations if needed.” She opened her mouth, and I held up my finger. “Not that you can’t negotiate, but I speak their language. I know what they need to hear.”

She added ice cream to the bowls, looking thoughtful. I slipped a hand under her chin, lifting it. “Are you happy here, Quinn?”

“I love it here.”

I cupped her cheek, and she turned, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Especially now,” she added, her voice warm and soft.

“I want you happy. I want you to stay. Let me do this. Trust me enough to allow me to help.”