eye contact with Neil, Maddie had loaded the dishwasher, wiped off the already clean table and lined up the chairs with military precision. If Bree didn’t get in there soon, Maddie might break out the mop next and start scrubbing the damn floor.
“Breanne Rose,” Maddie called down the hall. “Put the book away and get dressed already.”
There was a moment’s pause where, if she had to guess, Bree marked her place in the story before answering, “Okay.”
“How did you know she was reading?” Neil asked.
“A mother always knows,” she intoned somberly.
“Which is why you people scare the shit out of us mere mortals.”
“Just doing our best to keep that maternal mystique alive.”
“It’s working.” He plugged in the toaster. “I don’t suppose you have any wheat bread?”
“Sorry,” she said, not in the least bit apologetic. “Only refined carbs for us Montesano girls. And before you start reciting facts about the benefits of whole grain, let me say that I like white bread.”
She grabbed the loaf from the fridge and tossed it to him.
He caught it easily. “Peanut butter?”
“Second shelf on the left,” she said with a nod toward the closet she’d converted into a pantry.
He came back with a half-empty jar of peanut butter. “Not much in there.”
“I haven’t been to the store in a while.” A while. Three weeks. Same difference. “Actually, I don’t cook often.”
She refused to feel guilty about it. So she wasn’t Martha Stewart—who somehow seemed to run a multimillion-dollar corporation and cook, bake and decorate with wild abandon. Maddie didn’t have Martha’s bankroll or legion of workers doing grunt work.
“Not enough time for it?” Neil asked, putting two slices of bread into the toaster.
“I’m a single mother.” Of course she didn’t have enough time. “A single working mother—though that term has always seemed redundant to me, but that’s not the point,” she continued, waving her hand as if to rid the present of her last words. “I prefer to spend what little time I have with my daughter doing things other than chopping, mixing, cooking and washing dishes.”
She often turned to convenience and fast foods. Sue her. They gave her a few extra minutes for everything else on her always-growing to-do list. Laundry. Paying bills. Working on estimates for jobs. Yard work. House maintenance and cleaning. Running Bree to various activities year-round.
“You and Bree could spend time cooking together,” Neil said.
“Thank you for that Solomon-like wisdom.”
Though she supposed he had a point. Not that she was worried about Bree’s weight. Maddie had been on the pudgy side when she was Bree’s age. But then puberty kicked in, she’d grown four inches in six months and voilà. The pudge had melted off. She was sure the same thing would happen to Bree.
She supposed, for the sake of having a healthy lifestyle, they could cut back on the trips to the drive-through and stop stockpiling frozen dinners. Take some long walks after dinner a few times a week. How hard could it be to work ten to twelve hours a day, maintain a home, keep up with all of Bree’s activities, exercise several times a week and prepare a home-cooked meal each day?
Throw a cape on her back and call her Supermom.
“Now that I’ll be in town longer,” Neil said, “I can get that tour of Bradford House.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to be one of those customers who tries to micromanage things they have no clue about, are you?”
“I trust you to do your job.”
His words, sincere and quiet, warmed her. She shoved the fuzzy feeling aside. “Thanks.”
“You have a lot of work left to do.”
“Restoring an entire house takes time.”
He sent her one of his no-need-to-get-all-riled-up looks. “Just making conversation.”
She refused to blush. Or to admit, even to herself, that there was the possibility she’d sounded a tad defensive. But that’s what he did to her. Put her back up. Made her realize what a fool she’d been for him when all she needed to remember was how far she’d come without him in her life.
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, “I have a lot of work to do.”
“You doing that work alone?” When she frowned at him, he added, “There wasn’t a crew there yesterday.”
“Only because they were needed elsewhere. They’ll be there next week.” They’d better be or else she’d take a hammer to James’s head for real.
“I thought by now you’d be on your own. Wasn’t that your plan? To have your own company by the time you were twenty-five?” The