The Cottage on the Corner Read Online Free PDF Page B

regretted her choices. At least she’d never let on that she did.
    The doorbell rang, the sound so startling, Charlotte nearly dropped her coffee.
    She glanced at the clock. Six in the morning. Only Tessa ever visited that early, and she was spending the next couple of nights at a mountain cabin with her new husband.
    It didn’t seem likely that any of Charlotte’s neighbors would be up that early. Most of them were older and retired. They slept until nine or ten and then came looking for their morning fix. Quick breads or muffins or Danishes. Whatever she had left over from her baking. She always made sure to have something left.
    The doorbell rang again. She set the mug down on the counter. She didn’t really want to see who was standing on the doorstep, because the only one she’d ever known to be there in the wee hours of the morning or at the break of day was Brett. He’d been dead for three years and one day, so there was no way it was him. There were days, though, when she still thought she could feel him hanging over her shoulder, judging the things she was doing, the way she was dressed, the things she said.
    There were nights when she thought she heard his heavy plodding footsteps on the wooden floor. Not real, of course. She only heard and felt and thought of those things when she was overtired or overwhelmed.
    Right at that moment she was both.
    The doorbell rang a third time, and someone knocked on the door. Not a gentle knock, either. A loud, get-the-darn-door kind of knock that made her pulse jump about seven notches.
    â€œHold your horses!” she shouted as she grabbed the phone and hurried to the front door. If whoever it was looked like trouble, she’d call the police.
    â€œWho’s there?” She pressed her eye to the peephole and peered out into the violet morning light, half expecting to see Brett standing there, his hair slicked back and a contrite smile on his face.
    There was a man standing on the porch, but he wasn’t a ghost from the past. Max Stanford leaned close to the peephole, his uniform police hat low on his forehead.
    â€œIt’s me. Max. For God’s sake, open the door!”
    Surprised, she did what he asked, stepping back as he barreled into the house with what looked like a pile of clothes in his arms.
    â€œI need your help,” he said without preamble.
    â€œWith?” she asked.
    â€œThis.” He set the bundle down, a thick blanket falling away to reveal a little girl. She had dark hair and big blue eyes and the kind of chubby pink cheeks that little kids on magazine covers usually sported.
    Charlotte’s heart jumped in response.
    â€œShe’s adorable.”
    â€œYeah. Adorable.” He glared at the child and then at Charlotte. “Except when she’s screaming her fool head off.”
    â€œShe’s not screaming now,” Charlotte pointed out, crouching down so she was eye to eye with the little girl. “Are you, sweetie?”
    The girl shoved her thumb in her mouth.
    â€œWhat’s her name?” Charlotte asked as she straightened and met Max’s eye. He looked tired, his jaw dark with the beginning of a beard, blue-black circles beneath his eyes. Even tired, he looked good. Better than good. Darn the man and his ability to make her insides melt. Thank God she’d had the presence of mind to refuse his one and only dinner invitation. Who knows what kind of trouble she could have found herself in if she hadn’t?
    â€œZuzu.”
    â€œCute. Whose is she?”
    â€œMy ex’s,” he growled. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood for long conversations.
    â€œAnd, you have her because?”
    â€œIt’s complicated.”
    â€œSo, she’s yours.” Otherwise she couldn’t see a guy like Max babysitting a child.
    â€œThat’s up for debate.” He glanced at Zuzu and frowned. “Can you help me or not?”
    â€œThat depends on what you need