Page 67 of The Guest Cottage

Gloria had already scrubbed them from top to bottom, and Cort stopped by to put it together.

Seeing it, Pixie cried again, but she’d been laughing, too, her face rosy with excitement. She’d known so little kindness that every considerate gesture thrilled her.

All the crib needed was a mattress, so the next morning Marlow drove to town and bought the mattress along with several sheets and a few more baby blankets.

From one end or the other, Andy soiled a lot of blankets. Poor Pixie did at least one load of laundry a day. It was a good thing the tiny lake house had a stacked washer and dryer tucked into the utility closet.

Marlow’s gifts had leveled Pixie, who’d stroked each blanket as if they were made of cashmere or silk instead of cotton. She’d then claimed to be ready to work.

Marlow understood her a little better each day. Pixie felt indebted, and she wanted to begin repaying that debt as quickly as possible. “Soon,” Marlow had promised her, only because she knew she’d have felt the same way. No one liked feeling beholden to someone else. It robbed a person of their power.

After the gift of the crib, the troop of visitors to meet Pixie seemed endless. It frustrated Marlow, who wanted Pixie to rest, but it was also nice that everyone was taking an interest in her.

One person brought her a plant. Others, inspired by Gloria and Bobbi, brought her food. The pastor of the local church brought a stroller.

And now they all wanted a firsthand accounting of things.

In the tavern’s kitchen, Marlow set aside the heavy tray, then dropped back against the wall, unsure whether she should laugh or growl.

Herman stuck his head around the wall. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Depends on your perspective.”

He cautiously stepped in. “If it’s all that gossip about Pixie, well, was bound to happen.”

“You think so?”

He snorted. “After your in-laws were here causing a scene? You’re a focal point of interest, you know.”

It was almost amusing, given that she’d come here to escape her old life. “Where I lived before this, no one really cared about anyone else’s day-to-day life. We were all too busy.”

Inspired by that tidbit, Herman asked, “You lived in the city?”

“My home was actually in an exclusive suburb very near Chicago, where I worked.” As if absorbed, Herman leaned against the counter opposite her and gave her his full attention.

She’d never discussed her past with him, but now, as she fought the inevitable, she couldn’t recall why it mattered. Privacy be damned. These people weren’t really nosy, but they . . . cared. About everyone and everything.

How unique was that?

Here, apparently it wasn’t unique at all.

Just as she wanted to get pertinent information from Pixie because it would better enable her to lend assistance, these wonderful people also wanted to help.

She hoped to become a permanent fixture in Bramble, so maybe it was time she opened up a little. “Would you mind if I took a two-minute break?”

“Nah,” he said. “You look bushed. Grab a drink or something.” He started to walk away, but Marlow touched his arm, staying him. Herman had always been kind to her, and better still, he appreciated her. Really appreciated her. He recognized her work ethic and applauded her when she did her best.

That was better than a raise any day.

“Do you have a few minutes, too?”

His eyes went wide, but he nodded. “Sure, yeah, if that’s what you want.”

“I was just going to tell you a little about myself, and then if you’d like, you can share so everyone doesn’t feel the need to get the scoop from me.”

His brows came down. “I can tell them to back off if you want. Might not work with all of them, but some of them will listen.”

A reluctant grin tugged at her mouth. Herman spoke the truth. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just summarize and then get back to work.”

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