Amber Williams - Navy Seal Promise

“Harmony,” Roxie greeted, embracing her warmly. “I saw Bea earlier. I gave her sweets. I hope that’s okay.”

“Did she give you the lip?” Harmony asked.

“The pouty one, yes.” Roxie nodded. “It’s impossible to resist. How do you say no to her?”

“I’m the local bad witch around these parts,” Harmony admitted. She narrowed her eyes on her mother. “Especially with the Good Witch on the loose.”

Briar blinked innocently. “What? I’m the Mammy. I’m allowed to indulge her.”

“Hmm,” was Harmony’s response. “I’m going inside. Hopefully, I won’t find her on the downhill slope of a sugar high.”

Harmony left the women to their devices, retreating into the hushed cool lobby. The building encapsulated the essence of her mother’s soul. No wonder her father, Cole, had found refuge here. It wasn’t easy, the life of innkeepers. But his past penchant for wandering had washed ashore here at Hanna’s, and, under its roof, in Briar’s embrace, it had quickly checked out.

Growing up the innkeepers’ daughter had had the opposite effect. Like Gavin, Harmony was more of a wild thing. Living in the third floor with guest suites below, there had been no running or stomping. She’d learned how to maintain a proper “inside voice” early on. Meeting new people every day and hearing their stories had always been a source of enjoyment. But was it any wonder she’d craved days at The Farm and its wide open spaces?

There was something about coming home, however. As she followed the long, curving hall with its ornate line of floor-to-ceiling windows into the new wing, Harmony trailed her fingertips along the edge of an antique breakfront. The paintings lining the new hallway were local artistry, their subject dedicated solely to bay life. Today the view was obstructed by wood panels that would protect against surge should the storm bring it.

The new suites were built into the far end of the wing, allowing more privacy. They were larger with modern touches that the old rooms, regardless of charm, weren’t able to accommodate. The bed-and-breakfast now boasted ten suites in all—four in the original floor plan, six more in the new. It would open with a spectacular showing in a few short weeks, courtesy of Roxie, whose party planning vision knew no rival. Harmony looked forward to watching the inn come alive in its newfound evolution. Her parents were already training new help to take on a percentage of the expanding workload.

About time, she thought. Briar had held the same staunch notion for decades—since her mother, Hanna, had run the inn from top to bottom until her death, and so could she. Until recently, she’d ignored entreaties to hire a small staff.

It wasn’t just the new rooms that had worn Briar down, Harmony knew. The pain in her hands, a gift from arthritis, had gone steeply uphill over the last two years. Instead of admitting it out loud, she’d hired an assistant gardener on the sly. Others had followed—an office boy to answer phones, a maid, another maid... Loosening her hold on the reins was difficult for Briar, Harmony could see, but she was glad her mother was no longer carrying the full load of responsibilities.

The breakfast room would greet guests with coffee and vittles in the coming weeks. For now, it was roped off until furnishings were set and décor had been given the final nod.

The ropes hadn’t stopped Bea from sneaking in. Neither Briar nor Cole would’ve stopped her anyway. Her companion hadn’t thought twice about skirting the red velvet cordon or its Please Keep Out sign, either.

The pair had set up a tea service on the black lacquered coffee table in the center of the room. Bea sat on one of the pristine new sofa cushions. She wore a plastic tiara. She held her teacup in one hand, pinkie out for good measure, and a magic wand in the other. As Harmony watched from the doorway, her daughter slurped the remains of her imaginary tea and set it down. “Bibbity bobbity boo!” she chirped, tapping the wand on the end of the cup. As she picked it up again, she addressed her companion. “Would you care for more tea, dear prince?”

“Sure thing, princess.” Kyle held out his teacup. In his hands, it looked like something Alice might drink from at the bottom of the rabbit hole. Through his two-fingered hold, there was a teensy, visible fault line along its rounded edge, likely from his handling.

Bea repeated the incantation, flicking her wand over the rim. “Here are your magic sprinkles,” she chimed, picking up a glitter-filled salt shaker her Mammy had loaned her. She tipped it over Kyle’s cup.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Kyle said. He tapped his cup lightly against hers and the two drank, Bea slurping again. “Ah,” Kyle said with a nod. “That’s the stuff.”

“Unicorn biscuit?” she asked, offering him a pink plastic crumpet on a plate. “I had Gar-song make them special.”

Harmony hid a snort of laughter behind her hand. Under the shaded brim of his battered cap, Kyle’s gaze lifted over Bea’s waxen hair and zeroed in on Harmony’s hiding place. The amusement that had woven warm filaments around his eyes and mouth staggered. His smile tapered slightly. The glitch bothered her, but the frisson of worry it brought was singed away by the zing of intensity he threw at her.

“My compliments to the chef,” he said instead of giving her away. “It’s been a while since I had a decent unicorn biscuit.”

“Unicorns don’t like when Gar-song gives their biscuits to strangers,” Bea expounded, nibbling a purple crumpet.

“I imagine not.”

“They poke him,” Bea divulged. She emitted a conspiratorial giggle. “Right in the—”

The words ended on a shriek as Harmony’s arms wrapped around Bea’s middle and she turned the point of her nose into the sensitive place beneath her daughter’s jaw. The shriek merged into laughter, sweet clangors of it. “Right in the what?” Harmony asked.

“Nothing!” Bea claimed.

“Ah, now I’ll never know,” Kyle groaned, setting his teacup down with a clack.

Harmony hugged Bea, tugging her on to her lap. She noticed the lace-trimmed handkerchief with the Hanna’s Inn crest Kyle had unfolded over one muscled thigh in lieu of a napkin. He was sitting cross-legged with knees raised several inches, thanks to the confines of the sofa at his back. As a result, his jeans, worn soft but still a good shade of blue like his eyes, stretched taut underneath the hem of his gray T-shirt. Harmony cleared her throat, making some effort not to stare at his inseam. She lowered her head to Bea’s again. “Did you tell Prince Charming about your new pet unicorn?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Bea said with a pert nod. “We’re going riding together when the storm’s gone.”

“Oh,” Harmony said. “Playdate for two.”

“He said you could come, too,” Bea added almost as an afterthought after slurping from her teacup once more.

Harmony darted a glance over the table. Kyle’s bronze arms, the pronounced black-inked SEAL trident tattooed on his bicep peeking out from underneath his left sleeve, rested on his knees. His hands were linked. Watching. Demurring again from his laser focus, she still couldn’t miss the introspection that muffled the relaxed affection she was so used to seeing. He hadn’t moved but an inch or two since he saw her standing at the door. Yet she sensed that nothing about him was relaxed anymore. Even with the ottoman between them, she could feel the strains of tension. The type a watchful panther might coil inside itself while waiting for its prey.

She didn’t feel like the hunted. Her heart palpitated, out of sync. The frown. The wariness. It was almost as if he saw the hunter in her. She was the threat.

She didn’t like that one bit.