The Charm Offensive. Cari Webb Lynn
Sophie.
Nice smiles, belly flutters—but Brad Harrington didn’t belong in Sophie’s world. Her reality was a ten-year-old girl, eye doctors and abandoned things.
Sophie swung around as Ella stepped into the doorway, a neon-pink brush stuck in her knotted hair, her fingers gripped around her white cane. “Auntie, I told Charlotte I’d have braids today. She has braids today. And I promised we’d match for the field trip. We have to match. It’s pairs day. You have to match your partner on pairs day.”
Sophie hurried over to her niece and started working the hairbrush loose. “Well, it’s a good thing Ruthie is here then, because there’s no one better at braids than her.”
Ella pushed her eyeglasses up her nose. “I thought I heard her. And Matt, too?”
“Good morning, Ella-Bell,” Matt called from the entrance. “Need a lift to school today?”
“I don’t want to wrinkle my dress,” Ella said. “Auntie ironed it last night.”
“Then we’ll plan another date.” Matt walked outside, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Ella smoothed her hands over her dress and whispered to Sophie. “I haven’t wrinkled it yet, have I?”
“You look perfect.” Sophie leaned in and kissed Ella’s porcelain cheek.
“But am I wrinkled?” Ella stretched out the last word, unable to contain her concern.
“Not one wrinkle.” Ruthie adjusted the bow at Ella’s waist. “Now do you want one braid or two?”
Ella’s shoulders lowered and the corner of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. “Charlotte says she has less hair than me. She says her hair is flat and mine is puffy.”
“That’s your curls, Ella.” Sophie freed the brush and untangled the worst snarl. “Charlotte’s mother texted me last night. She can’t do French braids, so Charlotte will have two ponytail braids.”
“Ruthie, can you do a French braid?” Hope pushed out Ella’s words in a rush.
Ruthie squeezed Ella’s shoulders. “How about two French braids? That will still look like two ponytails.”
“You can do that?” Ella asked.
“Anything for you,” Ruthie said.
“Careful, Ruthie, or Ella will call you over every morning to style her hair before school.” Sophie handed Ruthie the hairbrush.
Ella shook her head. “Only on special occasions. I don’t want to inconvenience her.”
The sincerity in Ella’s tone and seriousness in the firm set of her mouth ripped through Sophie’s heart. Ella had feared being an inconvenience ever since she’d overheard a conversation between Sophie and her older sister, who was also Ella’s mother. The little girl hadn’t needed supersensitive hearing skills during that particular morning. Sophie had dragged Tessa into the shower, fully clothed, after her sister’s two-day-long binge of drinking and drugs. Even through the hair pulling, kicking and continued resistance, Tessa had never ceased ranting about the inconvenience of family. The inconvenience of parenting. The inconvenience of children.
Sophie rubbed behind her ear. Her hair had grown back, yet the memory still lingered in vivid color. But the imprint on a young, innocent child was the deepest wound, and that unseen scar remained. No matter how often Sophie tried to prove to Ella she wasn’t an inconvenience or encourage her to leave out that word from her vocabulary, she hadn’t succeeded. But she’d never stop trying.
Sophie hugged Ella. “Okay. Ruthie, while you braid, April can give you tips on how to use the cash register.”
Ruthie groaned. “But you told me I wouldn’t need to run that ancient thing.”
“It’ll be fine.” Sophie pushed confidence into her voice. Her friend was a brilliant PhD, but far from tech savvy. “The cash register is vintage, that’s all.”
“And temperamental and finicky,” April added.
Sophie plowed on. “We might not have any customers this morning. So this is just in case.”
“It’s Friday. The bell chimes at least eighteen times on Friday mornings,” Ella said, and nodded, authority lacing her matter-of-fact tone. “I counted when I was home sick a few weeks ago.”
“That was a rare day,” Sophie lied.
“Auntie, you told me it was slower than usual that day.” Ella frowned.
Sophie kissed her niece’s cheek to distract her. “You stand still and get braided. I’m putting a load of laundry into the washing machine and checking on Troy. Then we’ll walk to school. April, you have twenty minutes to talk Ruthie through things and then you’re off, too.”
“Are the babies coming?” Excitement lifted Ella’s voice into a breathless pitch.
“Not today.” Relief poured into Sophie’s words as she rushed through the back door. Delivering twins couldn’t be on today’s to-do list.
“I’ll be here later this morning if Ruthie has any trouble,” Brad called from the front of the store.
Sophie shook the smile off her face. That she liked the idea of Brad being here poked at her conscience; she’d buried these kinds of feelings so deeply inside her, so long ago, she’d assumed they’d be lost forever.
Sophie returned to the group and touched Ella’s shoulder. “Brad rescued a litter of kittens this morning and he’s agreed to put in the security system today.”
“How many kittens?” Ella clasped her hands together. “Can we keep them?”
“Only until we find them their forever homes,” Sophie answered.
“This could be their forever home,” Ella said. “With us.”
Sophie rubbed her forehead. First, she had to ensure Ella had a forever home. “You know the deal. We can’t keep them forever, only for now.”
“Can I hold one?” Ella asked.
“After Ruthie finishes your hair and only for a minute. You don’t want to miss the bus for your field trip.”
“Ask for the white one,” Brad said. “She’s a puffball and soft like a cloud.”
Ella laughed. “She sounds perfect.”
Sophie watched Brad walk outside. Something about him made her want to pull up a chair and ask questions. But Sophie didn’t have time for idle conversations over coffee and cake. She’d never had time for the frivolous. Thankfully, she had less than twenty-four hours to spend with Brad because there were some things Sophie could never have. Brad Harrington was one of them.
BRAD NOTICED SOPHIE push the empty cart into the back room. For such a petite package, the woman remained a study in motion. She hadn’t stopped moving since she’d wedged herself between him and the cart and demanded he stop shelving her dog food.
He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already found families for those kittens he’d brought inside.
She was efficient, competent and obviously guilty—like her father. There had to be a dark side to balance all that good, and he’d always been fascinated with exposing that shady inner core. And Sophie Callahan was too fascinating.
Matt leaned against his truck and tossed the tape measure at Brad. “Got a case you’re investigating?”
“No.” Brad caught the tape measure and avoided his friend’s stare. He wasn’t working a case. He was doing a favor. A favor for the widow whose late husband should be seated behind the Pacific Hills