JENNIE

Leo cried the minute I lifted him out of Jill's arms. "Come on, baby. Time to go home."

Every day it seemed harder and harder to pick him up from daycare. She seemed more reluctant to let him go. And he was fussier to be swept away.

"It's okay, Leo." Jill smoothed out his hair. "You have to go with your mom now. But I'll see you tomorrow."

The way she said your mom grated on my nerves. Like I was an intruder here, not his parent. I forced a tight smile, practically ripping him out of her reach. "Thanks, Jill."

Leo kept crying, staring at her like she should save him.

"Have a fun night." Her smile looked forced and tight too.

Jill was probably in her mid-twenties. Her brown hair was cut into a bob and she had these cute black-framed glasses. When we'd met, I'd thought it was great that she was so young. Her aunt owned the daycare center and she'd been working here for years. I'd actually thought maybe we could be friends.

Now, I wanted to spend the least amount of time with her as possible.

"Bye." I picked up the diaper bag and carried Leo to his car seat, shoving aside the Halloween costume she'd put on him to get the straps over his shoulders. The harness was too tight because this wasn't the costume I'd put him in this morning.

Apparently my homemade lamb outfit hadn't been good enough.

When I'd arrived five minutes ago, I'd found Leo in a pumpkin suit, complete with a green hat.

Jill had bought it herself, just for him. The other three babies in the nursery didn't have special costumes, but Leo was her favorite and she made no qualms about showing it daily.

I doubted he'd been put down since I'd dropped him off this morning. Jill carried him constantly, so at home, when I would lay him on a play mat or put him in a bouncer just so I could go to the bathroom or try and fix a meal or change my clothes, he'd scream his tiny head off.

I'd asked her this morning to make sure he had some floor mat playtime. She'd laughed and teased that he was just too cute to let go.

Tears welled in my eyes as he cried, his voice bouncing down the hallway. The daycare center was a house the owner had converted for childcare. There were four rooms, each for different age groups.

I'd hoped that Leo could stay here, advancing to the various rooms as he got older, but I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't show up here every day, leave him with a heavy heart, then pick him up and cry on the way home because he wanted Jill, not me.

It was an entirely selfish reaction. I'd been chastising myself for weeks.

He was happy here. That's why he cried. She spoiled him because she loved him. That wasn't a bad thing, was it? Why did I feel this awful?

A week ago, the night Lisa had made me pasta, I'd almost answered the phone when it had rung. I'd almost caved. Yesterday had been the same. The most recent call marked 126 total. I'd declined them all. But damn, it was tempting.

I could go back to New York and live off someone else's money. I could be a stay-at-home mom until Leo went to kindergarten. No more cleaning hotel rooms. No more eating Cup Noodles. No more budget.

No more freedom.

Don't give up.

The snow was falling in a polka-dot curtain as I hurried Leo to the car. It had started snowing around noon, and the weather showed no signs of changing.

"So much for trick-or-treating." I'd have to settle for a stop at the hotel, where Rosie had a bowl of candy. Then we'd go home.

I just wanted to be home.

With Leo's seat latched, I slid behind the wheel and brushed away the unshed tears. Then I squared my shoulders and drove to The Rosie, parking beside Lisa's truck in the alley.

I ducked my head as I walked inside so the flakes wouldn't fly in my face. The blanket I'd put over Leo kept him dry until I made it to the break room, where I went about changing my son into his actual Halloween costume.

The pumpkin suit was stuffed in the trash.

It would be easier if Jill didn't like Leo. So much easier. What kind of mother wanted her son's caregiver to dislike him? A jealous one.

"Why am I such a mess?"

Leo stared at me but didn't give me an answer. He'd stopped crying on the drive over.

I had to get over this issue with Jill. This had to end.

She bugged me. God, she bugged me. It was her attitude toward me that rubbed raw. But I didn't have a lot of options.

There weren't other daycare centers with infant openings. I'd called every single one last week. And it wasn't like I could talk to the owner. What would I even say? Tell your niece to stop loving my child so much?

Jill spoiled him. So what? I could not. That was my sad reality. I couldn't afford an expensive costume or to stay home with him all day, carting him around on a hip. Somehow, I had to get rid of this gnawing envy and just let her favor my son.

And I'd settle for the moments that were mine. Like tonight.

I tugged the hat I'd made over Leo's hair and blew a raspberry on his neck, earning a smile. "I'm not so bad, am I?"

He kicked his legs, squirming to be picked up.

I lifted him into my arms and kissed his soft cheek. "You're a cuter lamb than you are a pumpkin."

I'd taken a white onesie and glued cotton balls all over it, then done the same with a white cap. Then I'd pulled the onesie over a long-sleeved black shirt and matching pants. With a pair of black felt ears, he was a little fluffy lamb.

The majority of the trick-or-treating would happen in the local neighborhoods tonight, but Rosie had made sure that any kids who stopped by here wouldn't leave empty-handed. She'd splurged on king-sized Reese's Cups, Butterfingers and Twix.

I expected the leftovers would be in the break room tomorrow morning. Hopefully I could snag a Snickers for breakfast.

With his car seat stowed in the corner of the room, I carried Leo to the lobby, where a cluster of people were gathered around the candy bowl.

"Jennie." Rosie waved me over to the huddle. She was wearing a black witch's hat and held the broomstick she'd been toting all day.

"Hey, Jennie." Jisoo stood beside a handsome man who looked a lot like Lisa—which was why I thought he was handsome.

"Hi, Chu." I'd seen her a few times at the hotel when she'd come down with her grandfather for lunch. As the chief of police, she usually wore her badge and gun. Tonight, a baby boy about Leo's age, dressed as a lion, was propped on her hip instead.

"I'm Haein Manoban." His eyes crinkled at the sides as he held out his hand. Though he had the same height and build as his sister, Haein lacked the tattoos. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

Haein was one of the last Manoban siblings I had yet to meet.

Jihyo visited the hotel often, usually bringing along a tray of her pastries from Manoban Coffee. Haruto, the youngest, worked as a front desk clerk. The days when he was around I'd walk through the lobby and usually see at least one woman flirting with him at the counter. It was always a different girl.

Now the only sibling I had yet to meet was Ryujin. She was a doctor at the hospital and I'd meet her at Leo's four-month checkup next week. When I'd called to make my appointment, they'd told me I'd be seeing Dr. Manoban.

In my short time in town, I'd learned that the Manoban were practically famous. An Manoban had founded Quincy and their family had lived here for generations. Their ranch was one of the largest in the state and they had their fair share of businesses in the area, in addition to the hotel.

Apparently the Manobans were a big deal in Quincy.

In New York, a family of prestige would have flaunted it. The Kims certainly did. But every Manoban I'd met seemed so humble. So real. Like Lisa.

It was a thrill, meeting her family. Knowing the people who loved her most. Maybe that was because Jiyong had hidden his life from me. Because I'd been his dirty little secret.

I wasn't sure what was happening with Lisa. She'd almost kissed me the other night. I would have let her. My better judgment screamed at me to keep our relationship platonic. Stay on this side of the line, where she was just a friend.

"Hey." The deep rumble of her voice sent a rush of shivers down my spine.

Hell. This was the problem with that line. Every time she was around, I wanted to cross it.

I turned to watch Lisa cross the lobby. She'd shed her chef's coat and was in a long-sleeved thermal, the sleeves pushed up her sinewed forearms.

My heart did its expected skip.

She glanced my way as she walked but otherwise, her focus was on her brother. "You guys here for dinner?"

Haein held out a hand to shake with Lisa. "No, we're heading to Mom and Dad's so they can see Hudson's costume. But we thought we'd raid the candy dish here first."

"Raid away." Rosie handed Jisoo four candy bars. "Two for Hudson. And two for the baby."

"Thanks." Jisoo splayed her hand over her flat belly. "This one loves the sugar."

"Maybe that means you're having a girl." Rosie smiled.

Jisoo's belly was flat, not yet showing. Just the idea of adding another baby to the mix would have sent my head spinning. But she had help. She had a husband.

I had a Lisa. Sort of. For now. Whatever that meant.

"We're going to head out," Haein said. "Get to the ranch before the roads get worse. See ya later."

The phone rang from the other side of the lobby as Haein escorted his family out the glass doors.

"Will you man the candy dish for me?" Rosie asked and before I could figure out if she was asking me or Lisa, she ran away, broom in hand, to the reception counter.

"All decked out, huh, boss?" Lisa raised a hand to touch Leo's nose, but pulled it back at the last minute. The flash of anguish was there and gone before I could blink.

"I made it. It's not perfect but . . ."

She met my gaze and it was like those brown eyes could see my every insecurity, my every doubt. "What are your plans? Trick-or-treating?"

"No, it's too cold. Rosie told me how much candy she bought and was worried no one would come."

"Are you heading home? Or can you stick around for a while?"

Home was the right choice, but all that waited for me in the loft was laundry and her hated blue-box macaroni and cheese. "Um . . . stick?"

"Good. Come on."

"What about the candy dish?"

Lisa grabbed a handful of bars, grinned and nodded for me to follow.

I fought a smile and walked with her through the lobby, waving at Rosie as she waved back, hanging up the phone to return to her post by the door.

"It's so quiet in here," I said as we walked through Knuckles. All but one table was empty.

"First snow. Halloween." Lisa pointed to a booth. "Take a seat. Be right back."

"Okay." I picked the table in the farthest corner in case Leo got fussy. Then I set him on my lap, bouncing him lightly and handing him a spoon to grasp in his chubby fist.

It was strange to sit at a table like I was an actual guest. With the exception of fast food drive-thrus on the trip to Montana, I hadn't been out to eat since New York.

Lisa's menu had the perfect blend of lighter fare and heavy entrées. None of it was in my budget. Not even the McDonald's dollar menu was in my budget. But that didn't matter because Lisa had been regularly dropping off meals.

She'd worked every night the past week so there'd been no cooking lessons or visits to her home. But each night, after dark, when Leo was sleeping and I was curled in bed, rereading one of the e-books I'd bought in my former life, Lisa had stopped over on her way home.

The visits had been wordless. I'd see the flash of her headlights. I'd feel the vibration of the garage door open and close. I'd hear the thud of her footsteps on the steps.

Up, then down the staircase without a knock in between before she disappeared into her house.

The first night, I'd rushed to the door, wrapped in a blanket. She'd already been halfway across the driveway. One glance over her shoulder, then she'd nodded at the to-go container at my feet.

The first night, she'd brought chicken chili. The second, a stew with fresh bread. The list went on. Those meals gave me something to look forward to. Something warm and comforting to greet me at home.

The swinging door to the kitchen opened and she strode out with two plates, each loaded with what looked like pulled pork sandwiches. She set them down, one on my side, one on hers, then slid into the booth.

"You looked hungry." She popped a french fry in her mouth.

"You don't have to feed me."

She shrugged. "I tweaked my barbeque sauce recipe. Give me your honest opinion and we'll call it square."

My stomach growled, and I shifted Leo to pick up the sandwich. The first bite was . . . incredible. I closed my eyes, savoring the smoky sweetness, and let out a moan. "Wow."

Lisa's gaze was locked on my lips. Her jaw was clenched.

"Sorry," I whispered.

"You're apologizing for eating?"

No, I'd apologized for the moan. I had ears. I knew how it had sounded. The last thing we needed was more sexual tension.

"Don't," she ordered, shaking her head. "How was your day?"

"Good." Up until daycare pickup, it had been fine. "There weren't many rooms to clean today and the other housekeeper wanted to head home early so it was just me."

"It'll probably be quiet for a couple more weeks until Thanksgiving. I bet you could take a few days off if you wanted."

"That's okay." I needed the hours. "I've been thinking about something."

"Yeah?"

"Last week, you said I could stay. I'd like to until spring, if that's okay." The idea of moving in the winter was daunting. Not that my apartment hunt had yielded any other possibilities.

"Like I said, stay as long as you need."

Need, not want. I hadn't realized it until just now, but she'd said need last week too. Not want. Need.

There was a difference. One that caused a stiffness to creep into my shoulders.

I set my sandwich down and sat a little taller. "Then I'd like to pay more rent."

Lisa chuckled.

"It's not a joke."

"I know it wasn't a joke. But it's unnecessary."

"Your place is two hundred dollars cheaper a month than any other place I looked at."

A crease formed between her eyebrows. "I thought you just looked at the one next to Willie's."

"I called a few more."

Now it was her turn to put her sandwich down. "When?"

"Ever since I moved in. The loft was only supposed to be a temporary spot."

"But you don't need to move."

There was that word again. Need. "Then let me pay more rent. Let me make it fair."

"No. It's fair already."

"That's ridiculous."

Lisa scowled. "You wasting money is ridiculous. Save it. Spend it on a Halloween costume or whatever."

I flinched and stared at Leo. Three of the cotton balls I'd glued onto his hat were coming apart. Maybe that was why Jill had bought a costume. Because she'd had no faith that I could make one on my own.

Because she was better.

"Why won't you let me pay more?" I asked, my voice weak.

"Because you don't—"

"Need to?" I finished for her. The slime of shame crept across my skin, and a realization with it. Is that how this family saw me? As a charity case?

It would make sense. It made sense why Rosie had given me the best shifts. How she'd set me up with an apartment. Why Lisa made sure to keep me fed.

"Jennie, I don't need the rent money."

"It's not about you needing the money." I met her gaze and the pity in her eyes was crippling. "It's about me being able to pay it."

"But you don't need to, honey."

Honey. This was the second time she'd called me honey. I'd missed the undertone the first time, but at the moment, it felt like an endearment she'd give a child. Someone less.

Me. I was less.

"The sauce is delicious." I pried the spoon from Leo's fist, then slid out of the booth. "Excuse me."

"Jennie."

I didn't stop moving as she stood too. But she didn't follow as I hurried from the restaurant straight to the break room to collect Leo's things. Then we were out the door, rushing through the storm to my car.

There were no tears as I drove through town to the highway, navigating that familiar path to Edelweiss Hill. I was too stunned to cry. Whatever confidence I'd built here in Quincy melted, like the snowflakes that hit my windshield.

How had I not seen this? How could I be so blind? The Manobans were a wealthy and well-known family. Wealthy and well-known families didn't associate with people like me unless they were trying to save them. Save the poor people.

How many galas had I attended where that had been the unspoken cause?

I was the poor, helpless woman who'd come to Quincy with her belongings in the trunk of a car. I was the woman who couldn't afford decent meals, so I got the leftovers. I was the girl who'd never cleaned a room before her first day as a housekeeper.

Rosie had given me compliment after compliment since I'd started working at the hotel. But she swept through every room after I was done. Every single one. She always had one or two pairs of white slippers in her hand, a complimentary gift for the guests. Except I could have added the slippers myself.

Had she fixed my mistakes? Had she sent in another housekeeper to clean what I'd missed?

My stomach was in knots by the time I parked in the garage at home. I took Leo inside and fed him a bottle before peeling off his silly costume. More cotton balls came loose and by the time I had him naked for his bath, it all sat in a sad heap on the floor.

I'd hoped to save that costume, to put it in a bin with his baby shoes and hospital bracelet. Instead, when Leo was dressed in his pajamas and in his bouncer, I balled it up and tossed it in the trash. It was garbage. It hurt so badly that I pressed a hand to my chest, rubbing at the ache.

The phone rang from where I'd left it on the kitchen counter. I froze, staring at it from a distance. The name was unreadable from where I stood but I knew who it was.

Let it ring.

But I moved closer, staring at that green button.

This could all stop. The hard work. The tears. The pain. All I had to do was answer that call. All I had to do was hit that green button.

No more rent checks. No more time clocks. No more toilet-bowl cleaner and rubber gloves.

No more Manoban family charity.

I raised my hand, my finger poised above the screen. One touch to answer phone call number 127 and life would be easier again.

All I had to do was sacrifice . . . me.

All I had to do was give up.

Don't give up.

Give up, Jennie.

My hand trembled and I touched the screen. But I was too late. It had already kicked to my voicemail.

The air rushed from my lungs and that's when the tears came in steady streams with sobs that I'd been holding back for too long.

The sound of knuckles tapping on my door cut through my hysterics. My face whipped to the window, and there she stood. Her expression was unreadable. I hadn't heard her drive in or pull into the garage.

I turned away so sje couldn't see me wipe away the tears. She'd caught me crying, but considering I cried most days, considering she was probably here just to drop off a meal because it would be bad if their charity case starved to death, who the hell cared?

Not me. Not anymore. I was numb.

I squared my shoulders and walked to the door. The second I flipped the lock, she marched inside, stomping off her boots. And then she looked down at me with a scowl, like my tears just pissed her off. "If you want to pay more rent, fine. Pay more rent."

"I do. And I want you to stop making me food."

"No."

"I'm not a charity case, Lisa."

Her hands fisted on her hips. "Is that what you think? That I cook for you because you can't cook for yourself?"

"Well . . . yes."

She scoffed, turning her head to the ceiling. Her Adam's apple bobbed as she muttered something. Then she faced me again, taking a long step forward to crowd my space. "I cook for you because it's how I show someone I care. I cook for you because I love the look on your face after that first bite. I cook for you because I'd rather cook for you than anyone else."

"What?" My jaw dropped.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with you, woman."

My mouth was still open.

Which suited Lisa just fine.

Because she raised her hands, framed my face. Then sealed her lips over mine.