Brie Sullivan has a new baby girl and there are a million things to do, but Brie doesn’t have the energy to keep up. Why? She’s still grieving for her husband and suffering from baby blues, but she won’t let that stop her. She’s come up with the answer–find a new husband to be the father of her kids.
Jason Clark has been doing everything he can to help Brie. He loves her but can he accept her proposal of marriage knowing she’s not thinking clearly about the future?
A tall silhouette stood behind the glass panels framing the door. She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob. “Who is it?”
“Brie, it’s me, Jason. Is everything okay?”
Wonderful, he wouldn’t stay long, not after everything that had happen during Isabella’s birth. Then again, could she blame him? She had clung to him as if he were a life line, becoming upset if he even stepped away from the hospital bed.
A little voice sounded in her head. Don’t invite him in.
She nodded her agreement. He didn’t need to see the dirty dishes in the sink or the half-folded laundry in the living room or that she hadn’t vacuumed in more than a week. She brushed back her hair and then flipped the deadbolt.
Inching the door open, she peeked through the crack at the son of one of the executives’ wives. Marianne had requested her son help Brie, just handle a few small jobs around the house so she wouldn’t have to. Thankfully, Jason had agreed. Now, he seemed to arrive whenever she needed help.
The chilly night air touched her cheek. Afraid he’d see her tears, she brushed her hands quickly over her face and rushed through her greeting. “Hey, Jason, we’re all fine, so you can just head on home.”
“I’m in no hurry.” He edged forward, his hand resting on the door. The gap widened. “I had a job at a house down the street. They needed a toilet reseated. Only took a few minutes, so I decided to stop by on the way home and see how you were doing.”
Brie blocked the door from swinging open any further. She struggled for a way to deny him entrance. His mother was one of her best friends. He coached her son’s little league baseball team, and had stood beside her during the birth of her daughter.
“Jason, it’s really not a good time. The house is a mess. The kids are in bed and well…” Her cordial manners sent a bullet of guilt through her for being so impolite. She edged back a step. The crack grew wider. “If you want to come inside, I guess I can rustle you up something to eat.”
Yes, food, the ever-ready gift of peace.
She’d hide in the kitchen, while he rested in one of the recliners in the living room. Then once she had everything ready, he’d eat, leave, end of story. He’d head home, and all would be right with the world. She frowned as he stepped across the threshold, but did she really want to cook?
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