make our working relationship a little…uncomfortable?”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “Because I have no doubt that you want this venture to succeed, and that requires hiring the right person for the right job. Aside from that, an initial feeling of attraction is always based on superficial criteria, and once you get to know me, you’ll realize I’m not your type.”
He scowled. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“While I must admit to some curiosity about the ‘everyone’ else who might have said the same thing, the reason is simple,” she said. “Because I’d guess that someone known around town as ‘Love ’em and Leave ’em Liam’ is only looking for a good time and—”
“That nickname isn’t just ridiculous, it’s completely inaccurate,” he interjected.
She ignored his interruption to finish making her point: “And, as a single mom, I don’t have time for extracurricular activities of any kind right now.”
* * *
Liam took an actual physical step backward, a subconscious retreat.
“You have a kid?”
Macy’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Yeah, I figured my revelation would have that effect.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know.”
“Like I said—not your type,” she reminded him.
And she was right.
Everyone was right.
Because as much as he adored his niece—and he did—he wasn’t willing to play father to some other guy’s kid.
Not again.
He looked at Macy, dressed for another shift at Diggers’ in a different short skirt and low-cut top, and couldn’t help but remark, “You sure as heck don’t look like anyone’s mother.”
She smiled at that. “Thanks, I think. But I don’t want platitudes—I want a job. I want the manager’s job,” she clarified. “I don’t mind waiting tables at Diggers’, but the late hours mean that I miss the bedtime routine with my kids almost every night.”
“Kids?” he echoed, surprised to learn that she had more than one.
She nodded.
“How many?”
“Three,” she admitted. “They’re eight months old.”
He waited for her to provide the ages of her other two children, then comprehension dawned. “Triplets?”
She nodded again.
“Wow.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction when the doctor told me—although I might have added a few NSFW adjectives.”
“And the dad?” he wondered. “I imagine he was shocked, too.”
“I’m not sure it’s appropriate to ask a prospective employee about her personal relationships,” she noted. “But since there are no secrets in this town, I’ll tell you that he’s not in the picture.”
“You’re right—it was an inappropriate question,” he acknowledged.
Also, Macy’s relationship with the father of her babies was irrelevant. She might be the sexiest single mom he’d ever met, but he had less than zero interest in being the “dad” who transformed the equation of “mom plus three kids” into “family.”
“I guess the only question left to ask is—when can you start?”
The smile that curved Macy’s lips illuminated her whole face. “I’ve got the job?”
Liam nodded, though he worried that his heart seemed to fill with joy just to know that she was happy. Clearly the wayward organ hadn’t received the message from his brain that his new manager was a single mom or it would be erecting impenetrable shields.
“I’d have to be a fool to hire anyone else,” he said.
And from a business perspective, it was absolutely true.
From a personal perspective, it might turn out that he was just as big a fool to hire her.
During their tour of the inn a few days earlier, he’d been driven to distraction by her nearness. And he’d wanted to move nearer, so that he was close enough to touch her—or even kiss her. Would her skin feel as soft as it looked? Would her lips taste as sweet as he imagined?
“A lot of people think you’re foolish to reopen the hotel,” she noted.
Her comment dragged him out of his fantasy and back to the present.
“I guess it’s lucky for you that I didn’t listen to those people.”
“I guess it is,” she agreed. “But in response to your earlier question, I can start whenever you need me.”
“Two weeks ago?”
She chuckled softly. “Are you running behind schedule on a few things?”
“A few,” he acknowledged.
“Since I have to go so I’m not running behind schedule for my shift at Diggers’ tonight, why don’t you fill me in on Monday morning?”
He nodded. “That works for me.”
* * *
After a late Friday night at Diggers’, Macy usually struggled to drag herself out of bed on Saturday mornings. But knowing that this was her last such morning after her last late night, she was able to greet the day with a little more enthusiasm.
“What are you doing up so early?” Bev asked, when Macy tracked down the triplets—and her mother—in the upstairs kitchen.
Ava, Max and Sam were in their high chairs, set up side-by-side at the table where their grandmother could keep a close eye on them while she fried bacon on the stove.
Sam spotted his mama first, and he gleefully banged his sippy cup on the tray of his high chair. Ava, not to be outdone by her brother, stretched her arms out and called “Ma!” Max just smiled—a sweet, toothless grin that never failed to melt her heart.
“I wanted to get breakfast for Ava, Max and Sam today.” And though caffeine was required to ensure that she could function, she paused on her way to the coffee pot to kiss each of her precious babies.
“Because you don’t think I can handle it?” her mother queried, transferring the cooked bacon onto paper towels to drain the grease.
“Because you handle it all the time,” Macy clarified, reaching into the cupboard for a mug that she filled from the carafe.
After a couple of sips, she found the box of baby oatmeal cereal in the pantry. She spooned the dry mix into each of three bowls, then stirred in the requisite amount of formula. Ava, Max and Sam avidly watched her every move.
“You guys look like you’re hungry,” Macy noted, as she peeled a ripe banana and cut it into thirds. She dropped a piece of fruit into each of the bowls and mashed it into the cereal.
“Ma!” Ava said again, because it wasn’t just her first but also her only word.
She chuckled softly as she continued to mash and stir.
“While you’re taking care of that, I’ll make pancakes for us,” Bev said, as she gathered the necessary ingredients together.
Macy had given up asking her mother not to cook for her, because the protests had fallen on deaf ears—and because it was a nice treat to have a hot breakfast prepared for her on a Saturday morning.