CHAPTER 2
Zaki
I ’d lost track of time again.
When I saw Arwyn’s older model sedan pull into the driveway to our mountain cabin, I was mid-swing with the axe, splitting another log for the firewood stack on the porch.
The rhythmic crack of wood splintering was therapeutic, and I’d had every intention of stopping after a dozen logs so I could shower and dress for company. Sweat soaked through my white tee, clinging to my chest and back. My athletic shorts were dusty, my socks were wet and muddy, and my team-branded slide sandals were?—
Not my best look.
Not that I was trying to impress her, but Arwyn was one of those women who were always put together. Elegant, confident. Even when she was dressed oddly, like from another century. That took guts. And she didn’t give a rip about what people thought of her … eccentricities.
And now, there she was, standing next to her car, staring at me wide-eyed like I’d just stepped out of a How Not To Make an Important Impression social media reel. Her cheeks turned the same pink as the puffy scarf wrapped around her neck.
I let the axe rest against the chopping block and raised a hand in greeting. “Wynna-bun! Hey! Sorry, I—uh—lost track of time.” I glanced down at myself, mentally kicking every decision I’d made this morning. Fantastic.
Way to impress the one person who might actually save your backside.
A very sweet, demure, pretty person.
She blinked a few times, then cleared her throat, her hands clutching the strap of her vintage leather messenger bag. “I, um…” Her eyes flicked at me from feet to face, and not in an approving way. “I can wait if you need to finish.”
“No, no, I’m done!” I slung the axe over my shoulder and crossed the yard in long strides to lean it against the porch latticework, nearly tripping over a rogue piece of firewood in the process. Smooth, Marsch. Really smooth. “Welcome to the North Mountain! That’s what the girls call it. They’re Frozen fanatics. You know, the movies?”
“I’m familiar.”
“Great, ’cause we kind of went over the top with that theme up here.” Why was I rambling? She already knew how much I loved Frozen . “I’ll just … uh … go freshen up. Just one second.” I opened the front door and called out to my sister to corral the girls’ dogs. The little West Highland Terriers were gated from the main part of the house, so I wasn’t worried about them attacking our guest, but she wouldn’t be able to work with them sniffing around.
“Sof! Wynnie’s here! Can you put the pups up? Sofi and the girls—and their dogs—are in the kitchen,” I explained.
“Got ’em!”
“You didn’t mention dogs!” she hissed.
“We have fish, too. Out in the hot tub.”
She laughed. “I heard about that. Tasha said it was Monty’s favorite prank to date.”
I grinned and gestured for her to enter ahead of me. Arwyn strolled in daintily, clutching a bag that looked like it belonged to Mary Poppins at her waist, with an unrushed air of importance, like she was walking a red carpet to be presented to a monarch. Then, before she was barely a meter into the house, I bolted, calling over my shoulder. “Be right back!”
Arwyn’s gaze flicked away, her usual mask of calm slipping into place, but not before I caught a hint of amusement twitching at the corner of her mouth.
Good. She wasn’t mad.
By the time I came back downstairs, freshly showered, beard trimmed, and wearing my favorite flannel and jeans, Arwyn was standing in the living room, holding a mug of tea and studying the fireplace like it might hold the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. She’d removed her outerwear to reveal a long dress, her hair in a loose bun behind her head, with wisps floating by her ears. The golden highlights in her auburn hair caught the firelight, and the faint scent of roses wafted over from her direction. Standing very still, she looked like a painting looking at my painting.
“French.” She pointed to the painting of downtown Montreal at Christmastime over the mantel. “Vintage?”
“Copy. Sorry about earlier,” I said, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “Not exactly a great first impression.”
She glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow arching slightly, then snorted. “First impressions are overrated.” Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “This is your third.”
Was that a joke?
“Riiiight.” I waved to the girls, who’d looked up from their coloring books and were now giggling, their heads together, glancing at us and then back to my sister behind the counter and speaking in rapid French. Their presence gave the room a warm, chaotic hum of life, which was exactly how I liked it. It had been too quiet the last six months without them here.
When we’d separated, Viki had kept the condo by the arena, which we’d bought when we first moved to Denver. It was also close to the girls’ preschool and ballet studio. I’d moved into our cabin up here in the mountains, where we spent a lot of time in the summer and escaped to when I was home for more than a day during the season.
The cabin had been a dream of mine since I was a young boy. I’d lived my first few years in Denmark, and my German grandmother lived with us until Dad was traded to a team in England. Fairy tales shaped my childhood. If Oma wasn’t reading them to me, one of my sisters was. Hans Christian Anderson and the Brothers Grimm would entertain me during the day and feed my nightmares.
Some of those stories were dark and terrifying.
When I was sixteen, I was good enough to play in the Quebec junior league. My parents shipped me off to Montreal to live with my mom’s best friend from when she attended McGill. City life was busy and crazy, and I longed for a quiet retreat. Mom was from a little town outside Quebec City, but it was too far of a drive for my extended family to shuttle me back and forth, so I lived with Colette and Pierre Larioux, their hockey-playing sons, Patrice and Pascal, and their daughter, Victoire.
Viki. We’d hit it off on Day 1. She’d been surprised this big dumb jock was able to speak French and English fluently and discuss the classics.
You don’t grow up in a home of two sisters in the Western hemisphere without learning Austen, Shakespeare, and Disney.
The gilded picture frame, with its fleur-de-lis accents, had previously held our last family photo. I’d tried everything to hold our family together. But after over a year of counseling, Viki had determined we were no longer compatible. There wasn’t anything I could have done to change her mind. But in the end, she’d been right. We’d grown up and grown apart. She didn’t love me anymore, and I had to confront my deepest secret—that I loved the idea of being married and having a family more than I loved her. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us to stay in a loveless marriage. And we didn’t want to set an example for our girls that it was okay.
“It’s a replica,” I stated. “I couldn’t see spending the money for the real thing when this looks just as good.”
I swung my head back to Arwyn, who patiently held up a length of measuring tape with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised.
I tried to mimic the one-eyebrow thing, crinkling my forehead and squinting one eye, but nope, couldn’t isolate the one.
“Are you okay?” Arwyn asked. “Your face is twitching.”
Fail.
I waggled my eyebrows to recover. That I could do. “I’m fine. Why the eyebrow raise?”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting you to be frugal. I’m impressed.”
“I don’t like to waste money on things.” I tipped my chin to the girls and grinned. “Except for them. Their room is an Arendelle paradise.”
Arwyn’s lips spread into a wide, genuine smile as she turned her head toward the kitchen. “I would love a tour sometime.”
“I happen to know the two best tour guides personally,” I boasted.
“I’ve no doubt. Ready to start measuring?” she asked.
“Daddy!”
Isla and Amelie slid off the barstools and ran to us. I squatted down, ready to catch them. They hit me like little squirmy cannonballs, and I swooped them up into my arms. I closed my eyes, inhaling their baby powder and cookie scent. I wish I knew how to box it up to take on the road with me. Someone should infuse that scent into a candle or something.
“Can we watch?” Amelie asked.
“Can we help?” Isla asked.
“I don’t think—” I peered between their heads at Arwyn.
“Absolutely,” she said, her smile widening. “I have two very important assistant positions I need to fill for this client. Preferably by little girls who are good listeners and experts in everything Frozen . Do you qualify?”
“Yes!” they squealed in unison.
I set them down, and they practically tripped over their dresses to get to Arwyn.
“Do either of you like to write?” Arwyn inquired.
Amelie’s hand shot up. “I have three diaries and a book of lists I write in every day.”
“Wonderful. Taking detailed notes is important to creating a garment that fits. And who is good with their hands?”
“Me!” Isla shouted. “I do crafts. I made that—” She pointed to the lumpy ceramic bowl on the coffee table. “And that!” She pointed to the cross-stitched-by-number snowman in the frame on the wall.
“Excellent craftsmanship and needlework. Okay, girls, you’re hired. Mr. Marsch is expecting the highest-quality Kristoff costume, and we must meet his expectations. Are you ready?”
“Ready!”
Arwyn handed the tape measure to Isla and pulled a sketchpad from her bag. She scrawled something on it with a pencil, then handed it to Amelie. “First, we need to get your dad into position.”
“I’m ready,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the side of the stone chimney.
Arwyn clucked her tongue in disapproval. “That won’t do. Take three steps toward me. Stand tall. Arms at your sides. Feet shoulder-width apart.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I stepped as directed and stood as instructed.
“All right. Amelie, on the pad is the outline of a person, with a line at each spot I need to measure. You can see they’re lettered. The head is A, the neck is B, et cetera. I’ll call out the letter, and you write the number. Isla, are you ready with that tape?”
“Yes!”
“Great! We’ll start with your dad’s head and work our way down.”
Three pairs of eyes gazed up at me.
“Wynnie?” Isla whispered. “How do I get up there? Daddy is very tall.”
“Indeed,” Arwyn whispered back. “Ask him to sit on the sofa.”
“Okay.” She raised her voice. “Daddy! Sofa, please.”
I crossed to the sofa and sat. Isla kicked off her sparkly plastic heels and scrambled up onto the cushion. My arms shot out to steady her and keep her from getting tangled in the tape.
Arwyn instructed Isla as she wrapped the tape around my head. “Looks good. Now pull it snug.”
I winced as my daughter yanked it so tight I was sure it had cut into my skin.
“Not tight, Isla. Snug. Like this.” Arwyn’s fingers lightly brushed my ear. The tape loosened to a point where I could hardly feel it, like a whisper on my forehead. “We don’t want his hat to be too tight or too small.” Isla took the tape from her and mimicked her actions.
At least I thought she did. I didn’t have eyes on the top of my head, so I couldn’t swear to it in court, but it sure felt the same.
“Perfect, Isla!” Arwyn called out the measurement to Amelie, who recorded it on the sketchpad. “Now, his neck.”
“Please hold still, Mr. Marsch,” Isla instructed seriously. She expertly wrapped the tape around my neck. I thought about pretending to choke but didn’t think Arwyn or the girls would appreciate the humor.
Arwyn squinted at the tape at my neck and called out the number to Amelie, then leaned over to check her work and praised her for her neat writing. “Great job, you two!”
My girls beamed with pride, and I couldn’t help smiling with them.
This wasn’t how I’d pictured the consultation going, but it was fun, and the girls were having a great time. Part of me wondered if this was Arwyn’s way of interviewing us instead of the other way around.
I didn’t care. I could tell at the Coffee Loft she was great with kids, and as far as I was concerned, the job was hers. I just hoped we were passing her tests, whatever they were.
She motioned for me to stand again, and I reclaimed the spot she’d directed me to earlier. “Isla, let’s measure Mr. Marsch’s waist next. He’ll have to stand for this. You’ll need a stool. Ah! That ottoman over there by the window.” I watched with interest as she rushed over to the small footstool and brought it over, setting it on the ground at my side.
Isla climbed up and stretched the tape out in front of her. “Mr. Marsch, could you please hold your arms out?”
I raised them high, and she attempted to wrap the tape around me. Arwyn stepped in, guiding and sliding it until Isla held it in place.
“Thirty-eight!” Isla called to Amelie. “Right, Wynnie?” she whispered.
Arwyn nodded. “Correct.”
They continued to measure me, and I had to admit I was having a great time. I loved how Arwyn let the girls assist. It did cross my mind that maybe I made her nervous and the less she had to touch me, the better. I’d noticed her cheeks reddening at times, like when she had to measure my hips and thighs, but I couldn’t be sure if that was because of me or modesty.
When she finally stepped back, satisfied, I let out a low whistle. “That was intense. You always take your job so seriously?”
“Yes,” she replied simply, rolling up her measuring tape. “Were you aware your right arm is half an inch shorter than your left?”
“I am now. Hey, you forgot my inseam,” I teased.
Her eyes widened, and if I thought her cheeks were rosy earlier, they were scarlet now. I held her gaze in a challenge.
She tipped her chin up. “About that—I’ll require a pair of your best-fitting dress pants for that task.”
I wondered how she’d planned to handle that. I wasn’t about to let Isla take that measurement.
“So,” she continued, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her dress, “about the nanny job … Can we talk somewhere private?”
“Yeah.” She hadn’t said no. I tried not to look too eager as I moved to lean against the fireplace mantel. I addressed the girls. “I think it’s almost time to decorate those cookies. Get started, and I’ll join you after Wynnie and I talk, okay?”
They hurried off, and I directed Arwyn to the small room off the living area. It had been their playroom until I’d had a contractor combine their bedrooms into one big everything room upstairs. I’d bought a desk and love seat to make it look like an office, but I didn’t really need one. There was plenty of space for my laptop and anything else business-related in my bedroom.
I gestured for Arwyn to sit on the love seat and pulled out the rolling office chair for myself. I sank into it and leaned my forearms on my thighs. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s a lot to ask,” she said bluntly. “Your daughters are lovely and smart, and I know we’d get along wonderfully, but you want me to move up here, in the middle of winter, away from town and my business for an unspecified span of time, and … It’s not exactly… practical. And you have two dogs!”
I nodded, expecting this. Tasha had warned me she’d be a tough sell. “I get it. It’s a big ask. But I really think this could work for both of us. The dogs are puppy-pad trained—they won’t go outside if it’s too cold or snowing. You’d still have time to sew while the girls are at school, and I’d make sure that you’re compensated fairly.”
Her arms crossed, and she tilted her head. “Define ‘fairly.’”
“How about a five thousand dollar advance?” I offered.
That got her attention. Her brows shot up, and for the first time, she actually looked surprised. “Five thousand dollars?”
“Yep. To help with your house repairs,” I said, keeping my tone casual, “and for extras. The girls have ballet on Saturday mornings in Denver. They missed their dance friends last fall.”
Her lips parted, and for a second, I saw something in her expression that wasn’t guarded or skeptical. Vulnerability, maybe. Gratitude. And then her expression shifted. I detected anger and pride.
“Tasha told you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t blame her,” I said quickly. “I just… She explained how much that house means to you. And I know what it’s like to need help but not want to ask for it. So let me help. We can help each other.”
She tucked an auburn tendril behind her ear as she hesitated. “You promise no pranks?”
I saluted her. “Scout’s honor.”
That one eyebrow raised again. “I doubt you were ever a scout,” she observed dryly. “They don’t salute. They do that three-finger thing.”
“Fair point,” I said, raising a hand like I was swearing an oath. “But I promise. No pranks on Arwyn.” She had reason to be concerned. I’d been the recipient of multiple pranks during my first season playing in Quebec, but I’d turned that around the following year, and since then, I’d been the one pulling the best pranks on my teammates—and our mascot. But last summer, when the girls moved to Canada, I hadn’t had it in me. But now that they were back … Monty had a lot of payback coming to him, and my idea factory was back in business. I’d ease myself back in, starting small, then get him good when he least expected it.
She exhaled slowly, then looked up at me, her green eyes steady. “Okay. But I have another condition, besides the no pranks, and it’s a big one.”
“Name it.”
“It’s probably a deal-breaker.”
“Then it’s important. Go ahead.”
“It took me over an hour to drive here. Driving up and down that mountain road every day, in the winter, four times a day, is a no-go,” she said. “If I’m doing this, the girls are staying at my house. It’s walking distance to Palmer City Academy, which has an extended winter break—you could register them tomorrow, and they could start with the other mid-year transfers on Monday. I have the space. You can stay in my father’s old room when you’re in town if you don’t have the time to trek them up here in between games, if you like.”
That was not what I’d expected. But it made sense. And the idea of my girls staying in a cozy Victorian house, in a small town with plenty of people that I knew nearby to support them, should they need it, complete with a resident seamstress-slash-nanny, wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“And,” she continued before I could reply, “I need to know about their mother—where she is, how she is, her level of involvement, how often to call her, et cetera. Otherwise, no deal.”
“Okay,” I said. “Deal.” I lowered my head to gather my thoughts. Just the facts, Zak. Stick to what she needs to know, not the rest of the stuff . When I looked back up, Arwyn was staring at me intently. “Viki is in rehab—physical therapy. Earlier this week, she underwent the first of several surgeries. She’s had chronic pain from a dance injury for a long time. During childbirth, her pelvic bone fractured. And a year ago, she tore her labrum. That’s the muscle on the hip?—”
“I know. Former ballerina here.” She smiled sadly, her big green eyes wrought with concern. “Goodness, the poor woman.”
“Yeah. And she hid it well for a long time. She became a pro at managing her pain. She didn’t abuse painkillers or anything like that, but her quality of life has suffered. We have the resources to get her the best help in the world, but she refused to go to therapy or have surgery. When she and the girls moved back in with her parents last summer, they saw the extent of it, and her mom and dad and I confronted her at Thanksgiving.” I grimaced, remembering the look of betrayal on her face. She’d thought it was all my idea as an attempt to get full custody of the girls. “If they were in Montreal, Viki would continue to put them first and not get the surgeries or focus on getting better. So, Isla and Amelie are here with me until the end of the season, or when Viki is fully recovered, whichever comes first.”
“Wow.” Arwyn swallowed visibly. “Okay. Thanks for filling me in. Can they talk to her if she calls?”
“You’re welcome. And yes. Now tell me about this house of yours and the repairs that are needed. I have to make sure it’s safe for the girls.”
At that, she softened. “Oh, it’s totally habitable. Just drafty and creaky and not up to the historical society’s exterior expectations. And it needs a full paint job and refreshed landscaping.”
Five thousand dollars sounded like it would barely make a dent in the work she needed to have done. “Okay. I can work with that. Tell me more.”
Arwyn’s entire face lit up as she spoke, and I could tell this house wasn’t just a building to her—it was history, family, memories. And she loved it.
“It’s been in my family for generations,” she said, her voice warming with enthusiasm. “It was built in the late 1800s, and my great-grandmother married one of the Palmer sons—the founders of Palmer City. It used to be so beautiful. Stained glass windows, carved wood banisters, the works. It’s a little worn now, but it still has the old charm.”
A gasp turned our attention to the cracked-open door. “It sounds like our dollhouse, Amelie!”
I laughed. “Come on in, girls.”
Amelie explained. “You were taking too long. The cookies need you. But Daddy! Show her the picture of our dollhouse first!”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through until I found the photo they were talking about—a miniature Victorian dollhouse their mom had brought with them to Montreal.
Arwyn’s breath hitched when she saw it. “It’s almost exactly like it!”
The twins squealed in delight, bouncing in their chairs. “We want to live in the dollhouse!”
I laughed and held out my hand to Arwyn. “Looks like the decision’s been made.”
She hesitated for half a second, then placed her small hand in mine. “Deal,” she said softly.
Her hand was warm against mine, and as the twins cheered, I couldn’t help but smile.
Maybe this was going to work out after all.