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“ H ello to you, too, Mags.” My brother-in-law’s deep voice filters down the line as I settle into the leather desk chair. From here, I still have a line of sight to the family room, where Viktor sits on the floor with Lily.

Seems a shame for his beautiful suit to get wrinkled and dirtied up by my daughter. Oh, well. If he stays, he’ll learn to dress for the job. He’s lost his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves to expose the veiny flesh of his forearms. Drool.

Lily shoves a doll into his hands. The thing looks puny in his massive grip.

“A nanny, Cyrus? Really?” I hiss, turning my attention to my computer screen. Am I mad? Not really. Since Roman died, I’ve been drowning in motherhood and keeping the orchard afloat .

I could use the help.

If anything, my pride is bruised. I’m hurt he didn’t tell me before he swooped in and saved the day… again.

Cyrus has a habit of playing the knight in shining armor. He can’t help it; it’s how he shows his love.

He’s three years older than Roman and me, and had to step in when their parents died. His intentions may be well placed, but he could work on his execution. “Lily and I have managed just fine all summer—”

“Come on, Mags. Cut the bullshit. I’ve been there almost every Sunday for dinner.

You think I don’t see the bags under your eyes, the stacks of papers on your desk, or the laundry piled high next to the washer?

You’re burning the candle at both ends. How much longer do you think you can keep this up? Let me help. Please.”

“You overstepped, Cy,” I snap. Tears well in my eyes, all the inadequacy of being a young widow and single mom bubbling to the surface. The bills piling up in the kitchen are a constant reminder of my failures. It’s never enough.

I’m never enough.

It’s been four years of constant juggling, and I think I’ve finally dropped the ball.

Actually, I’ve dropped all of them.

“I’m sorry. I’m just overwhelmed with the upcoming harvest season and Lily starting school again.”

Cy blows out a breath, voice softening when he speaks. “Don’t apologize, Mags. That’s my job. I’m sorry I overstepped, but I’m just trying to help.”

“I know. ”

“By no means did I mean to imply you’re a bad mom or anything. Because you’re not. Fuck, you’re one of the strongest people I know. Lily is thriving because of you.”

Is she? For the first few months of summer vacation, she’s been stuck in the house, mostly entertaining herself while I work. She deserves better. Ugh, maybe I do need some help.

“Thanks, Cy.” One tear slips free, trekking down my cheek before I can brush it away.

“Viktor is the top nanny at the agency. He’s been taking care of kids longer than either of us has been alive.” How old is this guy? “Just give him a chance.”

Lily’s shrill laughter floats in from the other room, followed by a deep, soul-warming chuckle.

It’s a sound I want to bathe in, like it would heal all my wounds and take away the years of pain after losing Roman.

My heart clenches, and I push that thought away.

Lily’s happiness is my priority, not this weird interest in a vampire—no matter how handsome he might be.

“He’s already paid for,” Cy continues.

Closing my eyes, I rub at the bridge of my nose. Viktor would be able to get Lily out of the house. Get her brain and her body moving, instead of wasting the rest of her summer break on the couch.

With Lily out of my hair for a little while, I could finally catch up on all the work I’ve been shoving to the side. For once, I could get ahead and maybe find some spare money to cover the endless debt. “Fine, but next time… ask first.”

“I will. Promise.”

“Likely story. How’s Annie?”

His voice fills with so much love when he talks about his mate.

She’s a dragon shifter who used to hate Cyrus, but they overcame their differences and went into business together.

“Good. Great, actually. We’re set to open the warehouse remodel in a few months.

It’s amazing to see Antoinette living out her dreams.”

“I’m glad you finally found someone to put up with you, Cy.” I laugh, soon joined by Cyrus’s gruff chuckle. “Tell her I said hi. Will we see you for Sunday dinner this week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mags.”

A soft knock on the door to my office drags my attention away from Cyrus.

One of the first things Roman did after dedicating this room of the house as the office was add an exterior door that opens onto the wraparound porch. That way, no workers would track dirt all over the main house when they needed something. And we could separate the business from our private lives.

Two glacial eyes peer through the half window at me. Jean-Luc, my foreman.

“I’ve gotta run. Duty calls. We’ll see you Sunday.” Standing from my desk, I cross the small office and unlock the door.

“Talk soon. Love you, Mags.”

“Love you, Cy.”

I stuff my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and swing the door open. “Morning, Jean-Luc. What can I do for you?”

Tipping his head to the side, he maneuvers his wide horns through the doorway, hooves clicking against the hardwood when he ambles toward the extra chair in my office .

The minotaur sighs, his massive frame dwarfing the chair as he settles his weight into the seat. I should probably invest in a larger chair, since Jean-Luc seems to be my most frequent visitor.

His nostrils flare with a snort, the ring bisecting them wiggling with the force. An angry red lump on the tip of his nose catches my attention.

Oh, no. Not again.

“You’re in a fine mood this morning. What happened?” Before I can stop it, a giggle slips out of my mouth.

If anything, my laughter adds to his already sour mood and the big bull snorts again. “ ?a me fait chier . Damn bees. I was trimming the dead branches, and le batard got me.”

His nose twitches, and I lose it. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I try to calm my runaway giggles, but it’s no use. He levels me with a glare, and I laugh harder.

On a normal day, Jean-Luc is a surly asshole, but he seems to be extra grumpy this morning.

“It’s not funny, Maggie,” he clips in a rough voice. But one corner of his mouth tips into a slight smile.

Got him.

“I’m sorry.” I wheeze and wipe a finger under my eyes. “It’s not funny, but this is the third time in a week. Maybe we need to get you a custom beekeeper suit or something.”

“ Ostie! I’d look ridiculous.”

“You would!” I giggle again, imagining his massive body crammed into the white fabric, before sobering. “Is that why you came to visit me? Or is there something important? ”

Jean-Luc has been an integral part of the mild success we’ve had with the orchard. Originally from Quebec, he was the foreman for the last owner, so Roman and I begged him to stay and show us the ropes when we bought the place.

Lucky for us, he took pity on a couple of city slickers who knew nothing about running an orchard.

He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. I’m surprised the flannel of his shirt doesn’t tear under the flex of his huge biceps.

Towering over me, he may be intimidating, but he’s a big softie once you get through his tough exterior.

“ Oui . Harvest will be here in another month. I wanted your approval to call back the team from last year. They were hard workers. A good crew.”

Last year, we hired a mix of pixies, trolls, and humans to pick and process the apples. They worked hard, even though our numbers were down due to the massive drought.

A pit forms in my stomach. Bringing back the crew from last year means spending money I don’t have in order to pay them. But I can’t very well pick all the apples myself.

No.

The golden ticket out of this financial mess is a successful harvest.

Realizing I’m still awkwardly standing by my desk, I plunk down into my chair and nod. “Yes. Of course. Please hire back the same crew from last year. We’re expecting a bigger harvest this year, right?”

One massive hand runs over the brown fur bursting over the neckline of Jean-Luc’s red flannel. It’s like he walked off the set of a documentary about lumberjacks. Thick, fur-covered forearms strain the rolled fabric of his sleeves. “ Oui . Should be the best harvest yet.”

Butterflies startle in my stomach. This is good. This is what I need.

A boisterous, deep chuckle echoes in from the family room, followed by a high-pitched squeal.

On the sides of his head, Jean-Luc’s fuzzy ears twitch. “C’est qui?” His eyes widen, and he asks again in English. “Who is that?”

I blow out a harsh breath. “Ugh. Cyrus took it upon himself to hire a nanny for the next few months. He thinks I have too much on my plate—”

“You do.” Jean-Luc leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and giving me the full weight of his stare.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I respond, tone dry as the desert.

“ C’est la vérité . Mags, you’ve gone through more heartbreak and grief in the past few years than most people do in their entire lives.”

Jean-Luc was one of the few people I leaned on after Roman died. He’s seen me at my worst and stuck around. Something I’m forever grateful for.

Dipping my head, I sniffle as my finger runs along the top of a notepad lying on my desk.

“I know.” My voice thickens with a sudden wave of sadness.

“I just miss him so much. Sometimes it’s easier to drown myself in work and Lily, because if it’s too quiet…

that’s when the darkness creeps back in. And I can’t go back there. ”

I barely survived losing my husband—my best friend. Without Jean-Luc, this place wouldn’t have survived my grief either. He stepped up in ways I’ll never be able to repay him for.

The chair legs scrape along the wooden floor, and two big hands engulf mine, stopping my nervous fiddling with the notepad. “I know, Mags. I won’t let you.” When I tip my head up, I’m met by deep pools of ocean blue radiating with concern. “I miss him, too. So much.”

Swallowing, I blink away the stupid tears that have formed on my lash line.

Sometimes, it feels like all I’ve done for the past four years is cry, and I’m tired of it.

I just want to be happy and whole, like I was when Roman was alive.

“You’re probably tired of hearing this by now, but thank you for sticking around through everything. ”

“No thanks needed, Mags. Roman was like a brother to me. I would never abandon his family. Ma famille .”

After we bought the orchard, Roman was glued to Jean-Luc’s side for months, learning the ins and outs of running the place. Roman didn’t want to sit behind a desk and be in charge. No, he wanted to get his hands dirty and be involved in every part of the process, no matter how minute.

He and Jean-Luc became unlikely friends. My sunny, golden retriever husband matched with a surly, brooding minotaur. But they were brilliant together. Making so many plans for the future of the orchard.

Now it’s up to me to see those plans to fruition.

“He’d be proud of you, Maggie.” Jean-Luc squeezes my hand again .

I swallow down the fresh wave of emotions clogging my throat. “I’d like to think so.”

On the desk, my phone pings. A calendar notification lights up the screen: grocery calls.

“Sorry.” Pulling my hand from his grip, I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it on the floor when I swipe the notification away.

“I have another call. But bring in the old crew, get prepped for harvest. This is our year, Jean-Luc. I can feel it,” I say, thumping a hand over my heart.

I have to, because the harsh reality of losing this place, and the last memories of Roman, isn’t an option.

Jean-Luc grunts, standing and peeking into the family room. “A vampire? Hmm?”

“That easy to tell?” I stand next to him, head barely level with his shoulder.

He huffs, then turns and saunters toward the back door of my office, tail swishing behind him. Hand poised on the doorknob, he peers over his broad shoulder. “Keep the nanny, Mags. You deserve a break. Salut. ” Another snort, and he’s out the door.

Seems everyone—but me—knew I was in over my head. Guess all the coffee and concealer in the world aren’t hiding the bags under my eyes quite as well as I thought.