his hair. “I’ve got to get to work. I’m sorry to dump this on you and run. It’s a lot to ask.”
“It’s fine. Besides, I have Emily to help me.”
“Yeah.” His cell phone rang. “Yes, Grandmother. I realize I have two clients waiting. I got hung up, but I’m on my way now. Thanks.”
She saw the way Reese glanced wistfully toward the house as the children’s laughter carried toward them.
“They’ll be fine,” she said softly.
“I know. Thanks.” He turned toward his car.
“Wait!” Olivia grabbed his arm then dropped her hand when he turned to stare at her. “Sorry, but there’s this little problem. May I?”
Reese said nothing, simply inclined his head, granting permission. She moved in front of him, lifted her hand and touched the rock-solid edge of his jaw.
“Is this blob of ketchup part of your fashion statement?”
He groaned, pulled a tissue from his pocket, dampened it and rubbed it against the offending area. Then he looked at her, raised his eyebrows in a question.
“Gone. You are good to go.”
“They wanted pancakes and sausage for breakfast,” he explained.
“Which would explain the flour fingerprints on your knee.” Olivia couldn’t stop her laughter when he groaned and bent down to dust off the offending marks.
“Anything else?”
“You do have some green on your shirtfront, but if you put on a jacket it won’t show.”
Reese muttered something grumpy as he found the mark.
“Pardon?” She couldn’t help giggling.
“I said, my jacket’s in the car. Hopefully, it’s clean.” He threw her a disgusted look when she snickered. “You will lose that smile when you see the inside of the house. Promise you won’t take it out on me later?”
“No promises.”
“I was afraid of that.” He shrugged. “Don’t try to straighten, okay? It’s enough that you’re looking after the kids. I have a cleaner coming tomorrow. They’ll take care of it.”
“Go to work, Reese. Stay as long as you need to. We’ll be fine.”
He stood silent a moment, then nodded.
“Thank you.” He climbed into his car.
“Have a good day.”
“It’s looking better all the time, Olivia.” He met her gaze and held it for a moment. Then he drove away.
Olivia watched his car disappear from sight before she walked inside the house. Her eyes bugged at the mess.
An old adage about idle hands flickered through her mind. No way was she going to have to worry about that today.
Eight-thirty.
Reese rubbed the back of his neck and wondered if he should phone Olivia again.
To say what? That he was going to be even later than he’d promised the last time?
“What are you still doing here, son?” Winifred stood in the doorway looking almost as fresh as she had when he arrived this morning. “Shouldn’t you be at home, tucking those little sweethearts of yours into bed?”
Yes, he should be. But instead Reese was stuck here, digging for a solution to a problem he’d created.
“Hi, Grandmother. You’re here rather late yourself, aren’t you?”
“I had an afternoon nap, doctor’s orders.” She chuckled. “Whereas you look like you didn’t even get a full night’s sleep.”
“Brett had a nightmare.” Reese scrambled for a way to find the answers he needed without telling his secret. “You know the chapel you wanted to include in the Chicago store? Are you still certain about it?”
“More than ever. If there’s a chapel on-site, people will want to use it for their weddings. If they do, we get a chance to talk to them about the giant step they’re taking and maybe the opportunity to mention God’s plan for marriage. The chapel is integral to the new store.” Winifred’s excitement lit up her eyes. “For so long I’ve prayed for a chance to share my faith more openly and I believe a chapel is something God will use. Why are you asking?”
“I’m concerned about costs. Renting space on the Magnificent Mile that includes a chapel carries a hefty price tag.”
“But that was one of the things you said was so great about the Garver property—the ability to have all the square feet we need.” Winifred’s flawless temples furrowed. “If I recall correctly, you agreed that was the best part of starting another store—the chance to let God direct things.”
He had. But only because that’s what she wanted to hear.
“Has something changed, Reese?”
“There have been some snags,” he admitted, but stopped when her face went white in that way that meant her heart was acting up again. “We have to be mindful that space there is extremely costly.”
“I have no doubt you’ll handle that.”
She trusted him. It didn’t seem to matter that he was only a Woodward by adoption. Winifred, his parents, his siblings—they all felt he was up to the challenge and not one of them had expressed the least doubt about his ability to do his job since he’d come home from law school. The insecurity lay hidden inside him, a by-product of long ago.
Reese let Winifred ramble, hoping it would calm her and give him an idea of something they could cut back on. But according to Winifred, everything she’d dreamed of was in the plans for the Chicago store, especially the chapel.
“You’re sure you couldn’t just rent a church nearby?”
She gave him the look she often used to quell his sons’ rebellions.
“Weddings by Woodwards does not need to rent a church when we can offer our own little chapel. Churches sometimes intimidate people. But they don’t mind a chapel. It’s a perfect opening to have the kind of talks I want to have with my brides. Why are you asking me these things, Reese? What’s the problem?” Her hand trembled as she gripped his desk.
Reese dredged up the cocky grin he always used on her, unwilling to trash the dream she’d treasured for years or add to her anxiety.
“I’m the detail man. That’s why you hired me, remember? To cross every T and dot every I. That’s what I’m doing, making sure.”
“I see.” She sat with both feet on the floor, steadily watching him.
Reese heaved a sigh of relief when the phone rang.
“This is a call I’ve been waiting for. Do you mind if I take it privately?”
“I am the president of Weddings by Woodwards. Surely there aren’t any secrets from me?” Winifred said, but she rose and walked to the door as he asked his caller to wait. “When you’re ready to talk, Reese, I will listen.”
“Thank you, Grandmother.” He waited until she’d closed the door behind her. “Go ahead,” he said to the bank manager.
“I’m sorry to say this, Reese, but you wanted a second opinion and here it is. I’ve checked and rechecked the numbers. Weddings by Woodwards is not in a position at the current time to achieve the kind of loan you are considering, as well as pay for the in-store designs already drafted for Chicago. I’m sorry.”
“I see.” His heart dove to his toes.
“I know how much your grandmother is counting on this new store. I suggest you begin lease negotiations with the