by Ellie Hall
The server brought over a basket of warm Bannock bread with a crispy layer of cheese on the top.
“Ms. Brynn, you have to tell me if you love this stuff as much as I do,” Harper said, stuffing a piece in her mouth.
“Harper, manners,” Owen reminded her gently.
She took her elbows off the table and chewed with her mouth closed.
Brynn helped herself to a piece. Her eyes widened as she chewed. It didn’t have quite the same effect as the pumpkin cinnamon rolls had on her, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He still thought about the expression on her face that night at the farmhouse table when she’d taken a bite of the cinnamon roll. She’d said that she made them every year as a Thanksgiving tradition, but it had looked like love at first bite. It had been for him.
As if his thoughts were audible, his ears heated and he took a long sip of ice water.
After they placed their orders, the hostess brought Harper a new coloring book and a box of crayons. At the same time, she spotted her friend Daisy who was eating with two older couples.
The little girl rushed over to their table. “Hi, Mrs. Powell,” Daisy said. “I didn’t know you ate here.”
“It’s her first visit,” Harper explained.
“I’m here with my grandparents and their friends. They won’t stop talking about the water Mr. Lee has on his knee.” She crooked the corner of her lip and lowered her voice. “I ducked under the table and his pants are dry. There is no water on his knee.”
Owen threw back his head with laughter. He was used to his daughter’s precious and honest comments, but not quite accustomed to some of the funny things that other kids came up with.
“Daddy, it’s not funny. That means that Mr. Lee, whoever he is, is lying.” Harper looked nervous like she didn’t trust that Mr. Lee.
He quickly explained that it was a medical condition that caused swelling under the skin and then suggested the two girls sit at the empty table beside them and color. Daisy was all too happy to take up the offer because it looked like the server had brought the grandparents’ table coffee and tea, which meant they were probably planning on staying a while.
When he and Brynn were alone, Owen cleared his throat. “Sorry about, um, what Harper said and all that.” He couldn’t believe she’d blurted that she’d like Brynn to be her new mom.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry for your loss. It must be hard.”
“I’ve been a single dad for longer than Harper’s mother was around after she was born so... In some ways, I’m used to it. In others, I’m still getting the hang of things. Harper doesn’t really remember her though.”
Brynn’s eyes turned glassy.
He didn’t want to make her cry so he quickly changed the subject. “This is Friday night in Hawk Ridge Hollow. You said you’ve never been here? As you can see, the music is not to be missed. Just wait, soon the tables will be pushed back and everyone will be dancing.” He gestured at the mostly full restaurant and band.
“Really? I moved here over the summer and going out to eat by myself feels kind of...” She lifted and lowered one shoulder
“In that case, I’m glad we ran into each other. Where did you move here from?”
“Chicago. Lincoln Park.”
“No way, well, us too. Lakeview.” He leaned back, surprised.
“Then you must be a Cubs fan,” Brynn said, referring to the beloved baseball team.
“Hockey is big here, but I adopted them when I relocated. Did you ever get to a game?”
“I was there for the pennant,” she said with a smirk. “There was nothing like seeing Kyle Hendricks pitch that game.”
Both Owen’s eyebrows flew up. “Man, what I would’ve given to be there. Cubs versus Dodgers.” Instead, he’d been fighting with Nadine, begging her to come back. Baseball was a safer topic than bad relationships so he stuck to it.
“I’d been a Dodgers fan, but was converted. My husband—” She cut herself off and shook her head. Once more, her eyes filled with tears.
What was she going to say?
“What was your favorite place to get deep dish pizza—?” Again she stopped and that time she excused herself to the bathroom.
Brynn returned a few minutes later, looking brighter. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” His tone was gentle. During the time she was gone, he’d gathered that perhaps she’d been a Mrs., past tense. Maybe that explained the bumper sticker on her truck.
“Harper mentioned about her mother having passed. It used to be harder to talk about. She left us when Harper was one. She’d come back from time to time as though blown by the wind in the city. To her credit, she never missed one of Harper’s birthdays but was mostly gone the rest of the time. Then last year, while I was at work, I got a call. Had to identify—” That time he got choked up. “She was flighty, prone to depression, it turned out. Ups and downs. She’d have manic episodes and then deep lows. I’m not sure if she meant to, but she ended her life.” Owen brought the inside edge of his fist to his mouth.
Brynn reached for his other hand. Her palm nested inside his, anchoring him from being carried away by the flurry of emotions. Not for himself but for Harper. She lifted her eyes to meet his. A single tear threaded its way down her cheek.
A drawling country song played in the background. Owen reckoned that Brynn’s eyes weren’t the only damp eyes in the dining room.
“I don’t know why I told you that,” he said, glancing at Harper who was happily coloring and chattering with Daisy.
“I appreciate you trusting me with it. Nothing about loss is easy.”
Their food came and they talked some more about Chicago, including their favorite deep dish pizza parlors, Hawk Ridge Hollow, and Brynn’s plans for the upcoming holidays in Room Four.
After they’d finished eating, sure enough, the tables were pushed to the edges of the room and couples and groups moved to the makeshift dance floor.
Daisy got to her feet. “This is why my grandma and granddad like coming here. But if Mr. Lee’s knee is filled with water, I guess I don’t have a dance partner this time.”
Harper said, “I’ll dance with you. Come on, Daddy, Ms. Brynn. I want you guys to dance too.”
The four of them boogied to a few songs, smiling and laughing. Over the course of the night, Owen had noticed that a few women, notably Marci from the Beanery, eyeing him. One had been craning her neck while he was eating as though trying to get a glimpse of his left hand. His ringless hand.
It was no surprise that Ken Welk knew about his father’s will—the guy was hired to manage the board because of his reputation for being skilled in luxury property and asset management at least until the boys took over. Word had certainly been whispered, or in some cases shouted, around town. In order to access the immense Hawkins wealth, Charles Senior’s sons had to get married.
He’d heard rumors at the station that there were bets placed on who’d be the last man standing. Apparently, Rocky was winning. No surprise there. Owen was still unwed and would remain that way. He’d already been married. Why his father didn’t count that for something, he wasn’t ever able to understand.
Jolting him from distraction, Brynn took his hand and twisted around it before doing a sweetheart spin. Her dazzling smile reached her eyes, filled with mirth, with freedom, with the kind of happiness he seldom saw in her expression. They glided around the dancefloor.
Maybe his father didn’t count his previous marriage because although part of him had loved Nadine, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been in love with her—not in that way that was like a rush, skydiving without leaving the ground, spinning around and around like a top, dizzy, but delighted.
Brynn turned her body gracefully as they moved to the music, one song turning into another. He could watch her for hours. So could a few of the other guys in the room. Too bad they didn’t ask to dance with a couple of the other available women who’d repeatedly tr
ied to dance with Owen.
When Marci asked to cut in, Owen reached for Harper’s hand. “Sorry, I’m taken.” He meant it as a joke, but her face hardened.
It was true that he was single, but if he were going to dance with anyone, it would be his daughter or Brynn.
The song turned to a slow cover of a country favorite and Daisy scampered back to the table. Harper drew his hand to Brynn’s waist and then pushed them together. She was surprisingly strong for being so little. Then she scooted off to her friend.
Owen didn’t mind slow dancing with Brynn. Not one bit. He didn’t plan on putting a ring on anyone’s finger, but dancing with her made his pulse pick up in a way that had nothing to do with adrenalin or danger on the job. It was a gentle thud, a beat that fell seamlessly into rhythm as they swayed on the dancefloor.
After that song was over, the band slipped into a livelier tune that had the kids back by their side. Owen moved to sit down, but Marci gripped his wrist. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re a Hawkins. This is your song.”
He forced himself not to groan because he didn’t want to go along with the tradition.
“I’m surprised Tripp isn’t here or Dallen for that matter. Whatever happened to you guys?” Marci shouted over the music.
He didn’t want anyone to hear. He didn’t want to think about it. There was no need to explain. It wasn’t anyone else’s business.
Brynn’s eyes caught his. They were soft in the same way they’d been when she’d listened to him talk about Nadine.
He edged away from Marci and closer to Brynn.
Everyone on the dancefloor formed a circle, leaving the center space open. The clapping started slowly and rose in volume until someone finally entered the ring and did the dance dubbed the Hawkins Hop.
The cheering continued as another person entered the circle, the pair did the dance together, the first person left, the newcomer did the dance solo, and everyone down the line repeated the sequence with a new dancer joining the last before showing off their moves on their own. It was an old tradition, older than Owen and all his brothers. Probably started by their grandfather or great-grandfather.
He heard his name over the din and it soon turned into chanting as the crowd urged him onto the floor.
Harper bounced on her toes, the happiest he’d seen her in ages—not that much got her down. “Do it, Daddy.”
Brynn nudged her head toward the floor, encouragingly. Her lips quirked with amusement.
“Fine,” he said. “Doing it for you girls and that’s it.”
He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and started with the two-step, swung his knee around as he did a spin, shuffled right, then left, tipped his imaginary hat to the two special ladies he was there with that night, then after another sequence that involved some pony swing moves, someone came onto the floor. Marci.
He did the dance with her, eager to get it over with.
The clapping was still loud, as was the music, but she shouted, “Now that you’re back, are you the next brother to get married because if you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a ring on my finger.”
A growl rose up inside of him, but he held it back. He didn’t want to talk about his father’s will with anyone or about his private life. It was none of their business. It was bad enough that what had been Charles Hawkins’s legacy was being squandered by a greedy board of directors, including Ken Welk. But he had no way to prove it. Not yet anyway and that would require his brothers talk to him or vice versa and he wasn’t ready to do that. Being at the resort, he’d gleaned something was amiss and as a police officer had been trained to notice everything. However, he hadn’t been able to properly pursue his leads and investigate.
“I was already married,” he said, stepping off the dancefloor.
The circle parted for him as he took Harper’s hand and left.
The next day, Owen’s mood was only slightly less sour. He’d had a decent evening up until he’d danced the Hawkins Hop. It dredged something up in him, feelings about both the past and future that he wanted to avoid. His father. His brothers. The resort. Marriage. It was easier not to think about any of it.
His schedule at the station was finally solidified after being in flux during a transitional time as a more senior officer scaled back night shifts, another came back from vacation, and yet another prepared for retirement.
After helping out in Room Four on Monday, he waited for Brynn to return from parking police duty aka making sure the pickup loop moved smoothly and no students missed their busses.
Through the windows, he watched Harper climb on the play structure, then whiz down the slide. She moved onto the monkey bars, something she’d proudly mastered the week before.
He hadn’t said anything about dinner at the Hawk and Whistle to Brynn earlier. Usually, time helped people forget about things, but she’d been eyeing him with concern all afternoon.
“Everything alright?” she said when she found him waiting in the classroom.
“Yeah. Of course. I’m finally officially on the night shift. Are you still able to look after Harper in the evenings?”
She smiled like she’d been waiting to hear those words for weeks. “Of course.”
“I’ll come by a little early today so she can get a tour of the house, get settled in, and—”
“Do you want to have dinner? I mean unless your chef has plans.” Amusement played on her lips, but curiosity sparked in her eyes.
He scrubbed his hand down his face. Maybe time didn’t cause people to forget things or perhaps like his daughter, Brynn heard and remembered every word spoken.
“We have a suite at the resort.”
Concern formed a little crease between her eyebrows.
He sighed. “Don’t judge me but because it’s an unconventional situation and not exactly what you might call homey, I kind of played up the whole room service thing. I told Harper that Chef Bowen wanted to impress her with his culinary skills. Suffice it to say, he was enchanted by her and has since played into the whole thing with gusto. Let me tell you.” He snorted a laugh. “Bowen has a reputation for being a hard hitter, but he’s putty in that little girl’s hands.” He pointed through the window as she went down the slide again.
“Who isn’t? For the record, I’d never judge you.” The cross flashed on Brynn’s neck as she stepped into a patch of sunlight. She smiled. “Good idea to come over early. Daisy has been talking all about ghosts. If Harper has a whistle around her neck, like the one Daisy has, it’s because she’s decided it keeps ghosts away.”
Owen laughed. “I’m certain there aren’t ghosts in the farmhouse.”
“No, maybe just ghosts of the past.” At that cryptic comment, Brynn strode from the room, leaving him feeling puzzled, intrigued, and filled with a little bit of longing.
He hadn’t thought about it before that moment, but maybe he did want a future, instead of being bogged down by all the things that had happened.
Later, Owen helped Harper pack an overnight bag. He wasn’t sure how well this plan was going to work, but he preferred the idea of her being with someone she was close to rather than a babysitter. He had to find them a place to live, somewhere more permanent than the resort. Living there, he didn’t have to do chores, laundry, or prepare meals. He was busy enough as it was with work, Harper, and helping out in Room Four.
Not only that, but he had investigating to do with regards to the resort. His father had spared no expense keeping it pristine, vetting employees, holding them to the highest standards of service, and ensuring that every single guest had a memorable stay.
Now, wear and tear was showing, maintenance wasn’t being performed, and the little details—like fresh flowers in every room, real maple syrup, and the luxury spa had gone by the wayside. Artificial flowers and syrup replaced the real stuff and a spa treatment had left more than one person with a rash.
A short time later, when they arrived at the farmhouse, Harper’s eyes widened. “Daddy, is it haunted?”
He shook his head. “No. Do you think Ms. Powell would live in a haunted house?”
“Daisy said she sleeps in the classroom.”
“Daisy is full of beans,” he said with a laugh.
“The lady from the Beanery is full of beans. You’re not going to marry her, are you?”
His head jerked back. She must’ve heard Marci’s comment when they were at the Hawk and Whistle. “No, definitely not.”
“Good because if you marry anyone, I want it to be Ms. Brynn. I want to call her mommy.”
Sadness rocked Owen to his core. He pulled Harper into a hug before helping her out of the truck.
The house smelled like something buttery had been baking as Brynn opened the door. She wore an apron over the outfit she had on at school and this time there wasn’t any flour or plaster dust in her hair.
She welcomed them inside. “I made pot pie and pumpkin pie—I’m practicing for Thanksgiving.” She winked at Harper. “First, let’s have a tour.”
Harper’s eyes were still wide and she gripped Brynn’s hand.
When they were halfway up the stairs, Brynn turned and said, “Don’t tell me. I want to guess which one was your room, Owen.”
Harper stopped in the hall. “Daddy, you lived here?”
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told her yet. Maybe for the same reason he hadn’t mentioned the rest of his family. It was too hard to explain because he didn’t quite understand it himself.
A framed photo of a good-looking guy wearing dress blues stood next to a candle on the table in the hallway. Brynn caught him looking at it and turned her gaze to her hands.
