Page 68 of The Guest Cottage

He settled against the counter again.

In the briefest terms possible, showing the least amount of emotion, Marlow ran through her reasons for deciding to move to Bramble.Dylan cheated, I was going to divorce him, but he died instead, his parents needed me, I stayed to help them, then knew I needed to move on . . . and I ended up here. As she spoke, the look on Herman’s face was almost comical.Hewasn’t lacking emotion. Surprise, then outrage, replaced by sympathy, then anger again: the poor guy went through the gamut of reactions.

Marlow liked how it all just came together, as if she’d recited the plot to a movie that she’d found only marginally engaging. Saying it aloud like that as mere details rather than pivotal points in her life, showed her how far she’d come, and how quickly.

To wrap up the story, she explained about Pixie, again omitting details that were too personal, but really, there’d be no hiding the truth, not if she stayed here—and she hadn’t changed her mind about that.

“That poor child,” Herman said, his brows gathering with concern.

“She’s a mother, Herman, not a child.” That reminder made Marlow a hypocrite, because she often referred to Pixie as a girl, not a woman.

“To someone my age, she’s a child.” Still scowling, he ran his fingers through his hair, glanced at Marlow, and suddenly smiled. “Good thing she came to you, right?”

Taken aback by that sentiment, Marlow asked, “You think so?”

“Don’t be modest. Doesn’t suit you.” He gave her shoulder a fatherly pat. “You impressed me from day one. Knew right away you were special. This proves it.”

In a whisper, she admitted, “Ifeelspecial.” Was she special enough to get to stay in Bramble? “Who knew I’d ever be in this position, as a waitress at a charming tavern, in a small town named Bramble?”With my deceased husband’s girlfriend and infant needing my help. “Not me. A year ago, I would have considered it farfetched. But now I’m enjoying every minute.” She liked this adaptable version of herself a whole lot more than the business shark version. Or the obtuse wife version.

Or the hollow, heartbroken, wounded version.

“It’s nice that everyone is taking an interest in Pixie, but—”

Herman shared another inelegant but accurate snort.

“She’s been ill, Herman,” Marlow continued quietly. “She needs to rest, so do you think, now that I’ve told the story—or rather, you’ll do it for me—we could get everyone to limit their visits to certain days and times so Pixie isn’t fatigued?”

Like the perfect co-conspirator, Herman said, “You figure out the best schedule, and I’ll make sure everyone knows. Anyone who oversteps will get a stern reminder from me.”

“You’re the best, Herman.” Her hug took him by surprise, but sooner or later he’d get used to her embraces—ifshe got to stick around.

* * *

A week later, as Pixie put Andy down for bed, she walked through the quiet lake house with a smile. She’d had a productive day with the laundry all done and put away, the floors cleaned, every surface dusted, and her dinner dishes washed and in the rack. She could dry them and put them in the cabinet—or she could take a few minutes just to enjoy the beautiful location where she’d landed.

Amazement took her breath away every time she thought of her good fortune. In the matter of a few days, she’d gone from destitute and utterly alone to settled in a beautiful house on a scenic lake with new friends who honestly seemed to care about her and Andy.

Sometimes she feared she was in a dream, and she’d wake up to an ugly reality where Andy had no more diapers and she had nothing to eat. She’d worry about next week, next month, and the coming year.

She had a lifetime of caring for her son ahead, and no clear plan of how to do that. The generosity could only last so long.

And yet, this wonderful daydream continued, with townspeople who dropped in with gifts and a landlord who took care of the lawn and often asked her if she needed anything.

Best of all was Marlow. That once-feared woman had a heart of gold beneath her exterior of elegant strength. She was savior, teacher, and inspiration all wrapped up in take-charge attitude and unbelievable forgiveness.

Walking to the back door, Pixie noted the flicker of fireflies as they drifted over the dock and lake. The scene was so beautiful it took her breath away.

Rather than turn on the porch light, as she usually did at night, she slid the door open without making a sound, stepped out to the small stoop, and sat down. Rarely did she take the time to simply breathe deeply and relax. A week ago, if she’d tried, she probably would have fallen asleep, she’d been so worn out.

However, each day had brought more recovery, and she now felt like her old self again. Physically, at least. Well, except for the fuller bust and loss of her narrow waistline. Pretty sure her hips were permanently wider now, too. She smiled, knowing Andy had done that to her body.

Intellectually, she thought she was smarter now, a little wiser in the way of the world. More cynical, too, because she had firsthand knowledge of how deceptive some people could be. Never again would she let a man strip her of her pride and reduce her to a beggar in need of help. Her experience had been harsh, but lessons were learned.

Emotionally, she was now a mother, and she had so much love for Andy it sometimes surprised her that her heart didn’t burst. How did mothers of multiple kids manage? Could a heart carry that much love? Apparently so.

Pleased with her progress on all levels, she inhaled the humid air and took pleasure in watching the fireflies. Out on the lake, a fish jumped with a splash, fanning out the reflection of moonlight on the surface in ever expanding ripples.

She was enjoying it all, her thoughts at peace, until the crack of a twig put her on alert. Heart pounding, she slowly turned her head . . . and saw a shadow that didn’t belong. A man-sized shadow, coming around the corner of the house.

---