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Praise for JILL SORENSON
“With Jill Sorenson, you are guaranteed a dangerously addictive, gut-wrenchingly tight paced read.”
—New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Tyler
“Sorenson’s sleek sensuality and fresh new voice are sure to score big with readers.”
—New York Times bestselling author Cindy Gerard
“This heartwarming adventure story has an unusual setting and perfect details, making it one of the best books of the year.” —RT BOOKReviews on Stranded with Her Ex (4.5 stars Top Pick)
“Buy this book. I LOVED it.” –New York Times bestselling author Maya Banks on Tempted by Her Target
Praise for JENNIFER MOREY
“Great characterization and a thrilling plot make this a must-read book.”
—RT BOOKReviews on Special Ops Affair
“The story starts with strong emotion and the action is fast throughout…. This is a heartwarming book.”
—RT BOOKReviews on Librarian’s Secret Scandal
“Morey is an experienced writer who easily picks up the threads of the Colton family with imaginative and fairly true to life characters.”
—TheRomanceReader.com on Librarian’s Secret Scandal
JILL SORENSON writes sexy romantic suspense. Her books have appeared in Cosmopolitan magazine.
After earning a degree in literature and a bilingual teaching credential from California State University, she decided teaching wasn’t her cup of tea. She started writing one day while her firstborn was taking a nap and hasn’t stopped since. She lives in San Diego with her husband and two young daughters.
JENNIFER MOREY Two-time 2009 RITA® Award nominee and a Golden Quill winner for Best First Book for The Secret Soldier, Jennifer Morey writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense. Project manager du jour, she works for the space systems segment of a satellite imagery and information company and lives in sunny Denver, Colorado. She can be reached through her website, www.jennifermorey.com, and on Facebook.
Risky Christmas
Holiday Secrets
Jill Sorenson
Kidnapped at Christmas
Jennifer Morey
MILLS & BOON
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Contents
Holiday Secrets
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Kidnapped at Christmas
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Holiday Secrets
Jill Sorenson
For my daughters
Chapter 1
Brian adjusted the red stocking cap, trying to cover his dark brown hair.
He’d bought the costume on a whim a few years ago with the intention to play Santa for his sister’s children. Due to unfortunate circumstances, it had never been used. The cheap red suit came with an itchy white beard, but no wig. His own black rubber boots, which he used to wade through concrete, completed the look.
Leaving the hat askew, he stepped back and studied his reflection. He needed a haircut. His costume was “one size fits all” and poorly made. The fuzzy white cuffs of the jacket didn’t reach his wrists, the pants were too baggy, and the black plastic belt gaped at his waist. He looked like Homeless Santa.
He grabbed a pillow from the mattress on the floor and stuffed it under his jacket, fashioning a jolly paunch. There, that was better. As he headed outside, he picked up the bag of gifts and put the Dear Santa letter in his front pocket.
At 9:00 a.m., the sun was already blazing. It was going to be a hot Christmas in Oceanside, California. There wasn’t a cloud in the perfect blue sky. Brian had spent most of the morning on his surfboard, and the waves were in fine form. He might go back later for an afternoon session.
His pulse kicked up a notch as he approached the house next door. He hardly knew his neighbors and wasn’t sure what they would think of his getup. The single mom who lived there had never even spoken to him, and her daughters were quiet as mice.
If the girls hadn’t left a letter in Brian’s mailbox last week, he wouldn’t have considered buying them gifts. When he found the envelope, addressed to the North Pole, he’d opened it to investigate. At first he’d assumed that the girls had mistaken his mailbox for their own, because the two were side by side. Then he read the letter and realized that they hadn’t wanted their mother to see it.
The girls had penned the note to Santa in simple words and neat sentences. Judging by her careful signature, Mandy was the older daughter. Her sister, Alyssa, had scrawled her name at the bottom of the page in pink crayon. They asked for a couple of moderately priced toys that “Mommy can’t buy this year.”
Brian could easily afford the extra gifts; he had very few family members to shop for. But the last item on the list was something that no one could deliver—not even Santa. He’d been touched by the request and felt a powerful compulsion to make his neighbors’ holiday a little brighter.
They could all use some cheering up.
Whistling the tune to “Jingle Bells,” he knocked on the front door. “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas,” he called out, preparing to leave the wrapped presents on the stoop. Before he had a chance, the door swung open.
Mandy and Alyssa stood there in red dresses, their dark hair shining. Twin expressions of wonder lit up their well-scrubbed faces.
“Santa,” the younger girl breathed, fooled by his outfit.
Brian winked at her. “Have you girls been good this year?”
The both nodded dutifully, eyes wide.
He reached into his bag, finding a present for Alyssa. She jumped up and down, delighted to receive it. Mandy, who was at least five, probably knew he wasn’t the “real” Santa. But she accepted the second gift with a shy smile, examining his ill-fitting suit. If she found it lacking, she didn’t say.
“We have cookies for you! My mommy made them.”
Brian glanced around, wondering where she was. “Okay.”
Mandy raced into another room, coming back with a loaded plate.
“Thanks,” he said, grabbing a bell-shaped cookie off the top. He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, and these confections looked almost too pretty to eat, with silver accents and delicate icing. But they tasted like a dream, light and almondy. “Mmm.”
He was about to wish them a Merry Christmas and take his leave, along with a handful of those delicious cookies, when the girls’ mother appeared. The moment she stepped on the scene, the cookie lodged in his throat.
She was wearing a short towel, secured over her breasts. Her skin was wet, her dark hair dripping on her bare shoulders.
Brian did a double take, startled by her near-nudity. He couldn’t help noticing that she had a great figure. He’d never registered that before, but he’d never seen quite so much of her. She always wore shapeless clothes and big sunglasses.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, staring at him. She had frantic blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
Brian tried to chew the bite of cookie, which had turned to sawdust in his mouth.
“You opened the door to a stranger?” she asked the girls.
Mandy set aside the cookies, appearing stricken.
“Go to your room,” she said, clutching the towel in a white-knuckled grip. “Both of you!”
“Can we keep the presents?” Alyssa asked.
“No!”
They ran away, little faces crumpled in dismay.
Brian managed to swallow. “I’m sorry. I had no idea this would be a problem—”
“Get out,” she said, pointing her finger. Although her stance was strong and self-assured, her lips trembled, betraying her fear.
He retreated in surprise, unaware that he’d stepped over the threshold. “I’m sorry,” he said again, tugging the fake beard down his chin. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Brian Cosgrove, from next door.”
Her gaze darted from him to the half-opened presents on the floor. “Have you visited my children before?”
Brian was so astounded by her question that he almost didn’t catch its meaning. Was she implying that he wanted to harm her daughters? His stomach curled in revulsion. “No,” he said, shaken by the charge. “Hell, no.”
“Then how could you know what they wanted for Christmas?”
He reached into his front pocket, bringing out the Dear Santa letter. “They left this in my mailbox.”
She took the note from him and scanned it, her mouth thin.
It was on the tip of his tongue to explain that he thought he was doing her a kindness. His only impression of her before now was that of an overworked parent. He’d watched her leave the house early in the morning and trudge home late. Her girls had sad eyes. Intuition, and the Dear Santa letter, told him they were struggling.
He’d also studied his own reflection in the mirror often enough to know what a wounded soul looked like.
But the empty place inside him gaped wider than ever at her harsh treatment. Instead of trying to reach out to her, he distanced himself further. “I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced. It won’t happen again.”
She kept her attention on the letter, silent.
He turned and walked away, crushing the delicate cookie in his closed fist.
Leah read the message three times, her heart aching.
Dear Santa,
Mommy can’t by a lot of presints this year. She said not to ask you for new toys. But Alyssa wants a doctor Elmo and I want a Hello Kitty camera. We also want Daddy back from heaven.
Love,
Mandy and Alyssa
She folded the paper in half, her vision blurring with tears. Her neighbor’s visit had shaken her to the core.
When she’d heard the deep rumble of a man’s voice, she’d panicked. She turned off the shower and leapt out of the stall in a surge of adrenaline. Wrapping a towel around her body, she burst from the bathroom and rushed down the hall.
Seeing a strange man inside her house had brought back terrible memories. Eighteen months ago, she’d walked in on her husband’s murderer. She’d dropped her groceries and run out of the house, calling 911 on her cell phone.
The criminal was still at large—and Leah prayed he’d never find her.
Her neighbor looked nothing like the cold villain who’d shot John in the head. He was taller, leaner, not quite as dark. As soon as he introduced himself, she recognized him as the surfer next door. She saw the man coming back from the beach almost every morning. He was always barefoot, surfboard under one arm, wet suit pulled down to the waist. Something about him made her uncomfortable.
Unsettled by the surprise encounter, she peeked through the horizontal blinds, studying her neighbor’s driveway. He’d moved in about a month ago. His beat-up white truck said Cosgrove Construction on the passenger side. His house was small and rundown; she was surprised it hadn’t been razed.
He was just another down-on-his-luck handyman.
She let the blinds snap shut, aware that she’d overreacted and embarrassed him. She’d also yelled at the girls in front of him, which made her feel lousy. Mandy, in particular, was sensitive to loud voices. Alyssa was too young to remember the fights.
After she secured the lock on the front door, Leah went to her bedroom and pulled on her bathrobe. In her manic state, she hadn’t even thought about donning it. She must have looked like a crazy woman.
She’d also forgotten to set the security alarm before she hopped in the shower. An unforgivable oversight.
Shaking her head, she padded to the girls’ room. Mandy had slammed the door shut, which wasn’t allowed but she let it pass, turning the knob and slipping inside. The space was cramped, filled with two single beds. Alyssa was playing with an ABC puzzle on the floor. Mandy lay on her bed, arms crossed over her chest.
She was mad. Well, so was Leah.
Knotting the belt at her waist, she sat down on Alyssa’s bed, addressing both daughters. “What have I told you about opening the door to strangers?”
“Not to do it,” Alyssa answered promptly.
“So why did you?”
Mandy stared up at the ceiling, petulant.
“It wasn’t a stranger,” Alyssa pointed out. “It was Santa.”
“It wasn’t Santa, dummy,” Mandy said.
“Hey,” Leah scolded. “Be nice.”
“Who was it?” Alyssa asked.
“A man pretending to be Santa,” Leah said.
“Was he a bad man?”
“Probably not, but you girls need to be more careful. I don’t want anyone to hurt you or take you away from me.”
Hearing the quiver in Leah’s voice, Alyssa looked up from her puzzle. She scrambled to her feet and gave Leah a hug. “Okay, Mommy. I love you.”
Leah pressed her lips to the top of Alyssa’s head. “I love you, too, sweetie.”
Mandy let out an exaggerated sigh. She pretended not to like displays of affection. When Alyssa let go, Leah leaned over Mandy, kissing her nose before she could squirm away. “I’m counting on you to watch over your sister.”
Mandy’s expression softened. She was already protective of Alyssa, and enjoyed being responsible. “He wasn’t bad, Mom.”
“How do you know? Because he had presents?”
“He liked your cookies.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her cheeks heating. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d also seen a hint of masculine appreciation in his gaze. Brian Cosgrove liked full-grown women. And he knew a good cookie when he tasted one. She felt guilty for throwing him out of her house.
Taking a deep breath, she removed the Dear Santa letter from her front pocket. “Why did you put this in his mailbox?”
“I didn’t want you to see it before the mailman came.”
She looked from one daughter to the other, pressure building behind her eyes. “You know that your daddy isn’t coming back, right?”
Alyssa’s face fell. She nodded once and returned to her floor puzzle. Mandy focused on the ceiling, her chin quivering. This was a subject they’d all rather avoid. John hadn’t been a perfect husband or an ideal father, but they missed him.
On days like this, the loss was almost unbearable.
Leah couldn’t scold them for writing the letter, or for wanting their father back. She felt powerless over the situation. If only John had been able to control his gambling addiction. If only Leah had discovered his secret earlier.
Pushing aside her regrets, she rose from the bed and went back to her room to get ready. She had to apologize to Brian. Her stomach tightened at the prospect and she nibbled on the edge of her fingernail, wondering what to wear. She’d planned to spend the day toiling in the kitchen. The choices were limited because she owned few nice outfits. After rifling through her clothes, she put on her best jeans and a dark green tank top.
Vanity had her reaching for the makeup kit in the back of her underwear drawer. She applied a touch of mascara and a hint of lip gloss, her hands trembling. After shoving her feet into black flats and running a brush through her damp, shoulder-length hair, she walked down the hall to retrieve the presents.
Brian had bought her daughters exactly what they’d asked for. The toys were from two different stores, and had probably cost him a day’s hard labor. She took the half-wrapped gifts to the girls’ bedroom, watching their eyes brighten with hope. “I’m going next door to say sorry. You both stay right here.”
“Can we play with our new toys?”
“I suppose,” she said, setting them down. If Brian didn’t accept her apology, she’d offer to pay him back for the gifts.
“Thanks, Mommy!”
“We’ll have to write a thank-you note.”
They both agreed, tearing into their presents. Leah never left them unsupervised but she’d only be gone a minute. Tugging on the hem of her shirt, she walked outside, squinting at the strong California sunshine.
In Kansas City, they’d have had a white Christmas.
Her pulse fluttered as she approached his screen door. The thin barrier was torn in several places, and had a flimsy-looking frame. If she wanted to, she could slip her hand inside and reach the latch. She felt a twinge of resentment over his lackadaisical security. Single women couldn’t afford to be so careless.
As she raised her hand to knock, she saw Brian standing in the kitchen. He’d ditched the fur-trimmed coat and not bothered to put on a shirt. His skin was smooth and tanned, his torso etched with muscle.
While she watched, her mouth going dry, he lifted a plastic water bottle to his lips and took a long drink. Her eyes traveled from his strong brown throat, which worked as he swallowed, to the fine sheen of perspiration on his chest. The red Santa pants he was wearing rode dangerously low on his waist, held up by a thin white drawstring, and his stomach looked as flat and tight as a drum. This was no bowl full of jelly.
She might have made a noise, because he caught sight of her and startled, the bottle slipping from his hand. It bounced off the tile floor, spilling everywhere.
“Damn!”
“I’m sorry,” Leah said, clapping a hand over her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t stare at his naked chest, she could remember what she’d walked over here for.
He scrambled around for a minute, sopping up the water with paper towels. As he came toward the door, still shirtless, she tried to keep her gaze above his neck. It was a difficult task because he was a head taller than her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, making no move to step inside when he opened the door. From what she could see, there was no furniture. A table saw with a long, orange extension cord dominated the living room. “I just wanted to apologize for being so rude. My girls aren’t supposed to open the door to strangers.”
He leaned against the screen, holding it ajar. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, you’re not a mother.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “True.”
She moistened her lips, flustered. “It was really nice of you to bring the gifts.” Before he had a chance to reply, she rushed ahead. “Look, it’s Christmas, and we have plenty of food. Would you like to join us for dinner?”
His brows rose in surprise.
“I mean, I’m sure you have other plans.” She glanced into the empty space behind him. “But if not, we’d be happy to have you.”
He hesitated. “Actually, I don’t have other plans.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. “Well, great,” she said, forcing a smile. “Everything should be ready at noon.”
“You eat dinner at noon?”
Leah remembered that Californians didn’t use the same terms as Midwesterners. “Lunch, I should say.”
He gave her a curious look. “What’s your name?”
“Leah,” she said, careful not to add the n. Back in Kansas, she’d been Leanne. Now she was just Leah. Her identity, her family, her entire world—slashed.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, sticking out his hand.
She shook it quickly, noting that his palm felt warm and hard and as tough as leather. “See you at noon?”
He nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Smile faltering, she backed away, almost tripping over an uneven place in the sidewalk. He really needed to get that fixed.
Chapter 2
Leah made a traditional Christmas meal.
There was spiral ham, scalloped potatoes and fresh green beans. She’d steamed corn on the cob and made rolls from scratch. If anyone had room for dessert, she’d offer a warm cherry torte with vanilla ice cream.
Brian arrived on time, but Leah wasn’t quite ready. Mandy and Alyssa had been in high spirits all morning, running wild through the house. They tended to get overexcited on holidays, especially when Leah was too busy to discipline them. After she got fed up, threatening to take their presents away, they sat down to write Brian a thank-you note.
At the sound of the doorbell, she wiped her hands on a towel and went to answer it, glancing through the peephole. Her neighbor had cleaned up a little. His hair was combed back, his face freshly shaved. He’d also brought another gift—a large poinsettia.
Smoothing her apron, she opened the door. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
She waved him in, studying his appearance from beneath lowered lashes. He was older than she’d first estimated, at least thirty. Years of surfing or working outdoors had given him a rugged, weathered look. His T-shirt and jeans were far from new, but his boots were spotless and he smelled good. Like soap and sawdust.
She locked the door behind him, gesturing at the poinsettia. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“It was no trouble.”
“Well, thank you,” she said, accepting the gift. Their fingertips brushed as he transferred the plant to her. Heart jittering, she stuck the poinsettia on the coffee table, admiring its festive red leaves.
He nodded hello to the girls, who regarded him with curiosity. “I’m Brian,” he said. “You might remember me as Santa.”
“This is Mandy,” Leah said, touching her older daughter’s head, “and that’s Alyssa.”
“Pleased to meet you both.”
The girls shed their shyness like a winter coat. “I drew you a picture!” Alyssa said, hopping to her feet. She showed him a drawing of a stick figure in a red hat and coat, standing next to a colorful green triangle. Not to be outdone, Mandy brandished her own artwork, a thank-you note decorated with bows and boxes. “I made you a card.”
Brian weighed the merits of each offering, giving them equal attention. “I like the Christmas tree,” he said to Alyssa, who beamed at the praise. Smiling, he turned to Mandy. “And you write very well for a first-grader.”
“I’m in kindergarten,” she said.
“Really? You must be the smartest girl in class.”
She glanced sideways at Leah, her face solemn. Mandy wasn’t as good a reader as Brittany, one of the other students. But she tried very hard at school and Leah couldn’t have been more proud of her. “I’m not.”
He chuckled at her honesty. “What about you?” he asked Alyssa.
“I’m the best drawer,” she said, ever-humble.
“I can see that.”
“Why don’t you girls set the table?” Leah suggested.
While Mandy transferred the good plates from the hutch, Alyssa dispersed the silverware, and Leah walked to the kitchen to take the rolls out of the oven. It was a warm day, even by California standards, and she was sweating. Shifting the rolls into a basket, she pushed a lock of hair off her forehead.
“Can I do anything to help?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” she said, taking the basket to the table. “We need drinks.” She’d already set out cups of water for the girls. “Do you like iced tea?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a pitcher in the fridge, and glasses in the cabinet.”
He found the iced tea and poured them each a tall glass, following her as she moved the serving dishes to the table. Alyssa had given herself two spoons, so Leah switched one with Mandy, nodding her approval. “Let’s eat.”
She’d planned to sit at the head of the table, but Brian took that chair. Although it felt odd to see another man in John’s place, asking him to move would be impolite. Leah glanced at the pronged fork near his right hand, aware that it could be used as a weapon.
He seemed to notice her discomfort. “Is this okay?”
“Of course,” she said, as if nothing was amiss. Instead of sitting down, she stood beside Brian and picked up the sharp fork, spearing a juicy section of ham. She served him first, because he was a guest. Then she dispersed slices of ham to the girls and herself. Bringing the fork to the opposite end of the table with her, she sat down.
The side dishes were passed around next, and with slightly less trepidation. Alyssa expressed her hatred for all vegetables and Mandy dropped a dinner roll, but that was par for the course. Leah put her napkin in her lap and reminded the girls to do the same, noting that Brian mimicked them. He also waited for Leah’s cue to start eating.
She felt self-conscious about not trusting him with the pronged fork. Instead of making stilted conversation, she tucked into her plate, pleased when Brian did the same. Unlike her daughters, who were picky eaters, he appeared to appreciate a home-cooked meal. Leah had forgotten how satisfying it felt to watch someone enjoy her food.
When the girls were finished, they started fidgeting and kicking their legs under the table. “Can we have ice cream?”
“In a few minutes,” she said, noting that they’d both eaten a fair amount. She rarely insisted that they clean their plates. “Wash up and go play.”
They took their dishes to the sink and ran off, eager to get back to their Christmas fun. Leah hadn’t been able to afford many gifts this year, but the Witness Protection Program had come through with some toys and art supplies. Along with the inexpensive items she’d purchased, and Santa’s surprise gifts, they had plenty to occupy them.
Brian ate every morsel on his plate, his fork scraping the flat surface.
“Would you like another helping?” Leah asked, amused.
He deliberated, obviously wanting more. She didn’t know where he’d put it on that lean frame.
“Go ahead,” she said with a smile, taking her own plate to the sink. “There’s plenty.” While she rinsed some dishes and tidied up the kitchen, he polished off a second serving of everything. “How is it?”
“Delicious. I think this is the best food I’ve ever eaten.”
Her cheeks heated at the compliment, which sounded sincere. She left the ice cream to thaw on the countertop and brought the cherry torte to the table, wondering how long it had been since he’d had a decent meal.
“I’ve been living on convenience store burritos.”
“That explains it,” she said, taking her seat.
He wiped his mouth with the napkin, shaking his head. “No, this is something special. Are you a chef?”
Before the girls came along, she’d gone to culinary school. “I decorate ice cream cakes in a warehouse,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but I’ve always loved to cook.” Her current job was a waste of her creative talents. Maybe in a few years she’d be placed somewhere more fitting. “What kind of construction work do you do?”
“Any kind. I specialize in custom carpentry, but I have a general contractor’s license, so I can take whatever’s available.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression sardonic. “Sometimes I dig ditches.”
Leah admired his good-natured attitude. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself because cake-decorating wasn’t a challenge. At least she didn’t have to dig trenches and lay bricks or whatever else he did. This poor guy had no furniture, no appliances. But he’d been kind enough to buy Christmas gifts for his neighbors.
“I know those presents were expensive,” she said. “Would you be offended if I offered to pay you back?”
His eyes darkened. “Yes.”
She drank another sip of tea, feeling awkward. Although he seemed nice, she didn’t know anything about him. She wanted to ask why he’d decided to play Santa, why he was alone on Christmas, and if he had a family of his own.
“I have two nieces,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Twins.”
Leah warmed to the subject. “Twins? How old are they?”
“Almost four. I bought the Santa suit two years ago, with them in mind.”
“How did they like it?”
A creased formed between his brows. “They never saw it. My sister…their mother…died in a car accident that year.”
She lifted a hand to her lips. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”
He inclined his head. “Her husband was from the East Coast, so he moved back there with my nieces a few months later.”
“Have you seen them since?”
“No. He’s remarried and…they don’t remember me. I don’t think they remember her.”
“Oh, my God,” she repeated, stunned. “That’s awful.”
He didn’t disagree.
She struggled to think of something comforting to say. “Alyssa was a baby when her father died, so it’s been easier for her. Mandy took it hard. I try not to dwell on the loss, but I can’t imagine pretending he didn’t exist.”
“You still talk about him?”
“Maybe not as much as I should,” she admitted, seeing her neighbor in a different light. When he’d read Mandy and Alyssa’s letter, he must have been reminded of his nieces. It was a tragic situation. “I’m so sorry I threw you out earlier. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay,” he replied, relaxing a little. “I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about…what kind of person I am.” His gaze fell to the pronged fork on the table, out of his reach.
“I’m overprotective,” she said, chagrined. “I don’t mean any insult.”
He gave her a curious look, as if contemplating the reason for her caution.
The girls burst back on the scene, begging for dessert, so Leah rose to get the ice cream. Grabbing a few small plates, she scooped smooth vanilla bean alongside the warm cherry torte. “Do you want some?” she asked Brian, serving her daughters first this time.
“Is it as good as the cookies?”
“Better,” she said.
His brows rose in agreement as he took a first bite. “Wow.”
Leah lifted a spoon to her mouth, enjoying the sweet, tart cherries and creamy vanilla ice cream. By the time dessert was over, they were all stuffed. Mandy and Alyssa had both been up since the crack of dawn and looked tired. Leah put on a Disney movie for them and returned to the kitchen, surprised to see Brian at the sink.
“I thought I’d help you load the dishwasher.”
“It doesn’t work,” she said, surprised. “I’ve never used it.”
“Do you mind if I take a look?”
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