But the triplets were practically headfirst into the toy box.
“Probably should have told them about the tacos first,” Cindy mused. “No matter.” She glanced at Flynn. “Unless you’re hungry?”
“I’d kill for some coffee.”
She grinned. “You won’t have to get that drastic. I could use some myself. Why don’t we put up the safety gate at the top of the stairs and find our caffeine fix?”
“Won’t get any argument from me,” Flynn replied. But he made sure the safety gate was secure before he joined her in the farm-style kitchen.
He glanced around appreciatively. She had incorporated new appliances that resembled ones of yesteryear next to original freestanding cabinetry. She’d kept the integrity of the original structure, yet updated it enough to make it workable. He wondered what all the fronds of hanging dried herbs were for. Mixed among the bluish and sage green were also dried bouquets of roses and heather. It reminded him of a potently fragrant garden that had been preserved from past summers. “This is some kitchen.”
“Thanks. It’s one of my favorite rooms. I’m reworking them one at a time.”
“You’ve got a pretty big house, Cindy. Planning on filling it up soon?”
For a moment she froze, her hands filled with a pitcher and carton of cream. Then she laughed, a nervous sound in the otherwise relaxed kitchen. “What makes you ask?”
“Just a comment on your home. I didn’t mean to pry. Just thought maybe you were dating someone special.”
Her fingers clenched the handle of the pitcher before she relaxed enough to pour the cream. “You have a vivid imagination.”
“I thought maybe that was why you moved here.”
Suddenly breathless, she made a production of looking for the sugar. “Excuse me?”
“I couldn’t see any other reason for a young woman to move to the boonies. I thought it must be love.”
“Love?” she asked, her voice sounding strangulated.
“I am prying. Sorry.”
She fussed with the coffee cups, then added a plate of cookies to the tray before finally bringing it to the table. “No need to apologize.”
“Still, it’s a great house.”
Cindy smiled. “Anything newer or smaller cost a fortune. Not many people want to fix up these old painted ladies. This one needed a lot of gutting and repair. Not to mention horrendous utility bills that are eating into my trust fund.”
“You wouldn’t trade it for a new one,” he mused accurately, surprised to realize how much she seemed to fit with the charming old house.
“Nope. It’s drafty, always in need of fixing—and I love it.”
He accepted the coffee she offered, studying the rose pattern of the fine bone china cup and saucer. “No generic mugs for you.”
Her gaze followed his. “It’s one of my weaknesses—collecting china. But I only have one complete set. I collect orphaned cups and saucers—I must have twenty of them, each a different pattern.”
Flynn glanced at the other collectibles that lined her glass-fronted cabinets. “You like old things—antiques, I mean.”
“They have history. I like to imagine the people who once owned them.” She stared upward at the tall ceiling of the kitchen, then the original arched wooden-paned windows that brought the sunshine inside. “I couldn’t imagine living in a house that’s squeaky new, that hasn’t had time to develop character.”
“Like the one you convinced me to build,” he commented wryly.
She flushed suddenly, not a gentle blush, but a violent wave of color, a shortcoming that seemed to be a side effect of being a redhead. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean—”
But he dismissed her protest. “I know what you meant. And you’re right. This house suits you. I’m just not sure yet what suits me.” He’d known once, but everything about his life was uncertain now. Especially this move, the one that had him sitting next to her.
Compassion filled Cindy’s eyes. “You’ll know again, Flynn. It may not seem like it now, but you’ll find your way.”
“You sound remarkably certain.”
“It’s my faith,” she explained gently. “It makes me sure there’s a path for me. I might stumble now and then, but at the end of the day it’s always there.”
He nodded out of politeness, his own abandoned faith scarcely a bitter recollection.
Still, in comfortable silence they sipped the strong coffee and nibbled on buttery shortbread cookies.
Flynn cocked his ear, listening for the sounds of his daughters.
“I have a baby monitor,” Cindy remembered suddenly. “I’ll hook it up after dinner. In fact, it has enough units for all the bedrooms upstairs and one here in the kitchen.”
Quizzical, Flynn studied her face. “Why do you have a baby monitor?”
“As I said, I bring home kids now and then from my volunteer work. With a big old house like this, the monitor saves a lot of steps. One of the first little ones I brought home with me kept escaping from his crib. That’s when I discovered baby monitors. Of course, with that little curtain climber, I could have used an alarm system.”
An unexpected smile crossed Flynn’s face. “That bad?”
“Unequivocally. And, of course, to make matters worse, he was an absolute charmer, so I could never stay mad more than a few seconds.”
“That would be rough,” Flynn remarked.
“Especially when it was time for him to go home. The house was deadly dull and I didn’t get nearly enough exercise.”
A thud from upstairs echoed through the floorboards. “I have a feeling you won’t be lacking in exercise now.” He stood. “I’ll go check on them.”
Cindy watched him leave, feeling her heartbeat settle to a near-normal rate. At this pace, she’d be a wreck in less than a day. Watching everything she said, trying not to read something into his words…. Briefly she closed her eyes, masking the questions. But not the big one. Had she made a terrible mistake in agreeing to let Flynn stay in her home? Would he somehow discern her hidden feelings? And could her heart stand this constant assault?
Again she heard a few thuds overheard, then the clatter of many small feet on the wooden stairs. Rounding up the troops, she realized.
In moments, the girls scampered into the kitchen and many of her apprehensions faded. How could she not give everything in her power to them? They were Julia’s legacy, the only tangible link she had left. Little Mandy clutched Cindy’s leg and the last of her reservations melted even more. Whatever it took, she would help these girls. No matter what it cost her own heart.
The following day, Flynn used a few rocks to anchor the blueprints on a portable camp table. Rudimentary but effective. The breeze was light, yet it ruffled the rolled paper just enough to keep it out of alignment.
Cindy glanced at the papers, then at the lot Flynn had purchased. “Are you happy with them? The architect drew up the plans awfully fast.”
His gaze remained on the lot, but he didn’t look especially pleased. Instead it was a contemplative expression. “Rand Miller’s a friend. And he put together the complex for my insurance company.”
“Does he design homes, too?”
“Usually bigger ones than I’m planning, but yes. He’s doing this one as a favor to me.”
“Has he seen the lot?”