Page 43 of Morally Black Betrothal

“That you should accept my services? Understandable, of course. We’ve only just met.”

Ginny wasn’t even looking at me anymore, but over my shoulder as she took in the scope—or lack—of the apartment. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out how to deal with Mrs. Doubtfire.

I couldn’t call Brendan to ask what was going on. I didn’t even have his number.

Even so, the fact remained that, if—no, when—Selena appeared again, I couldn’t afford to drop my life to take care of hers either.

Just the fact that Brendan had anticipated that. Had taken the time so casually to send help…

No one had ever done something so singularly thoughtful for me in my life.

“I don’t know what to say.” I couldn’t quite keep my chin from wobbling.

Immediately, Ginny dropped her bag and gathered me into her arms.

She felt as motherly as she looked and smelled like Werther’s caramels and hot tea. Exactly like a mother or grandmother should. Like mine might have if she’d made it this far.

The thought only made me want to cry more.

“There, there.” Ginny stroked my hair. “You let it out. Anyone can see you’re as overwhelmed as it gets, aren’t you? You just take your time.”

I sniffed but didn’t argue with her. Oddly, it was nice to be seen that way.

A few moments later, I stepped away, still wiping my eyes. “Thank you. I don’t know what got into me.”

“We all have our moments.”

I laughed through a few final tears. “That we do. I, um…I have to get back to work.” I waved the résumé in the direction of the kitchen, where the ingredients of my side hustle awaited. “I don’t need your help right now since my sister and her daughter aren’t here. But maybe when they come back…”

“My number’s right there, love.” Ginny smiled again as she picked up her bag. “You take care, dearie.”

“Thank you.”

I closed the door and set the résumé on the pile of mail I still needed to go through from the week.

I’d just fallen apart on the shoulder of a kind, strange lady.

A nanny sent to me by Brendan Black, of all people, right after he’d stroked my face at the hospital like I was something precious.

What evenwasthis day?

Bewildered, I went back to making bread. Early this morning, while Kylie had jabbered at me over breakfast, I’d set up the dough for this week’s orders, now ready to be divided, rested, and shaped for the second proof.

I tied my apron around my waist, put on my favorite album (Joni Mitchell’sBlue), then pulled out the first big bin of dough from the proofer and set it on the battered worktable. I punched my hands into the mixture and teased it onto the wood surface. The dough had a good latticed texture today. Good. The gluten had been doing its work.

As I divided the dough into ten stretchy mounds to be sprinkled with flour, I kept going back to the moments before Mr. Black had woken up, when Brendan had been warm and friendly, his eyes soft and gentle. He had looked at my lips again, I was sure of it.

I’d looked at his lips too. I wasn’t going to lie to myself and say I hadn’t. They were nice lips. Full, but firm-looking, and the left corner of his mouth quirked in a way that was particularly entrancing every time I said something nice to him.

I also wasn’t going to lie and say I didn’t feelsomethingthere. Some kind of electricity crackled every time we interacted. And when we touched…when we hugged…when he traced the outline of my lip with his thumb…

Maybe I was just lonely. It had been a long time since I’d been intimate with anyone. Lord, it had been forever since I’d even kissed anyone other than my niece.

But loneliness alone couldn’t explain the electricity. That was definitely new.

I divided a second bin of dough and folded each mound to rest on the counter next to the first set of ten. There had been warmth, concern, and maybe even desire lingering in Brendan’s stormy eyes. Right until his father started yelling, and it had all iced over.

He was a complicated man. With a family like that, how could he not be?