Irresistible (Cloverleigh Farms #1)(55)

She giggled. “Totally.”

“I wish we had some time alone. And I should have gotten something for you. Flowers or chocolate or something.”

“I don’t want gifts, Mack. I just want you.”

“But I can’t even give you that. Not the way I want to, anyway.”

She put her hands on my chest. “Shut up and kiss me.”

I tried, but it was so dark in there I missed her lips the first time and ended up licking her chin. We were laughing and kissing when the door swung open and Winifred stood there staring at us.

“What are you doing in there?” she asked.

“I was … changing a lightbulb,” I blurted, reaching up and pulling the string hanging from the bare bulb. The light clicked on. “Oh good. It works now.”

“What was Frannie doing?” Winnie asked, eyeballing us both as we came out of the closet.

“I was helping,” Frannie said, grabbing her jacket off a hook and trying not to laugh.

“Can you help him make dessert?” Winnie wondered hopefully.

“No, she’s got things to do, Winn.” I grabbed my youngest and got her in a loving chokehold. “We’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Bye.” Frannie zipped up and opened the door. Her cheeks were scarlet and she couldn’t stop grinning. “See you tomorrow.”

The next morning, I still felt guilty that I hadn’t gotten her even a small gift for Valentine’s Day after she’d stayed late at the house and even made dinner. I could pay her more, and I would, but I also still wanted to do something nice for her. Could I bring something to work for her? Coffee? A muffin? A card? On a whim, I turned into the parking lot of a drugstore and ran inside.

In the greeting card aisle, I found the picked-over remains of the Valentine options. It was a fucking mess. Overwhelmed, I moved over to the I’m Sorry section and looked for one that might be appropriate.

There were cards with roses and fancy cursive apologies, cards with kittens and cutesy script, cards with illustrations and funny quotes and inspirational sayings and promises to do better. I read about a thousand of them, getting more agitated with each passing second. Part of me sort of felt like buying the whole rack—I’d probably need them all sooner or later.

In the end, I grabbed one with a drawing of a lollipop on it that said I SUCK. (SORRY.)

I paid for it and ran back to my car, where I quickly scribbled a note on the blank inside.

Sorry yesterday wasn’t more romantic. I’ll make it up to you.

Mack

I shoved it in the envelope, wrote Frannie on the front, and tucked it into my jacket.

My next stop was the florist, where I bought a dozen red roses. Back in the car, I tucked the card between the stems and drove to work. I realized that if anyone else was at the desk, it would probably be pretty fucking obvious what was going on, but I decided I didn’t care.

But she wasn’t at the desk when I got to the inn—her mother was. That’s when I remembered that she didn’t work there on Fridays.

“Well, good morning,” Daphne Sawyer said, smiling at me as I approached carrying the roses. “And who’s the lucky lady?”

My stomach lurched, but I told the truth. “Um, they’re for Frannie, actually. She’s been so great with the kids, and she stayed late and made dinner yesterday … I just wanted to let her know I appreciate her.”

The smile widened. “How nice. She’s not working this morning, but she’s at home as far as I know. Why don’t you bring them to her?”

“Maybe I will, thanks.” I went back to my office, glad that Daphne didn’t seem upset or even all that surprised by the fact that I’d bought flowers for her daughter. Maybe Frannie was right, and her parents weren’t going to be shocked or angry about us.

When I got back to my office, I texted her.

Morning, beautiful. What are you up to?





My elbows in batter LOL. I have a lot of baking to do. Busy weekend. Events booked all three nights.

That’s right, it’s Presidents Weekend.

Inn sold out?





Yes.

Which meant she was totally busy and probably didn’t have time to fuck around with me, but I was dying to give her the roses and grab at least a few minutes alone with her. I decided I’d sneak up there at lunchtime.

However, I only made it until about nine-thirty before I couldn’t wait any longer and stealthily crept up the stairs to her apartment, hiding the bouquet behind my back.

When she answered the door, she looked surprised but happy. And fucking adorable—her hair was all piled on the top of her head in a big sloppy mess and she had a smudge of pink batter on her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, her smile bright. “What are you doing up here?”

“I brought you something.” I held out the flowers.

She gasped. “What’s this for?”

“For Valentine’s Day. For everything you do.” Unable to resist, I caught her around the waist and kissed her lips. She tasted sweet—like strawberries and cream.

“You didn’t have to do that. But thank you.” She glanced down at her T-shirt and sweatpants. “I wish I’d have known you were coming. I’m a mess.”

“You’re perfect.” I looked at her hair. “But I do think even I could do a better bun than that.”