Aunt Liv ticked off the bottles one by one, comparing them to the inventory and marking off what they needed to buy more of, what they could take off the usual order.
This whole prince thing was a hoot but they hadn’t planned on the liquor they’d burn through. Good thing they could squeeze in a half-delivery ahead of schedule or they’d be screwed. She’d felt something in the air, she just hadn’t expected this. It was good for business, despite what Erik liked to mutter about their regulars complaining about the crown chasing sort of women.
The storage room door creaked open.
“You got to stop drinking all the whiskey,” she called out over her shoulder. Erik didn’t drink much, but this prince business had brought up memories of sweet Bjørn. Her nephew would drink them away if he could. Erik had never been the same after his brother’s death.
“Hello, Liv.”
That...was not her nephew’s voice.
She stared at the wall, memories tickling the back of her mind. Other things that voice had whispered to her in the dark of night.
Liv turned, peering through the dim light at the man standing just under one of the bulbs.
He was older, less hair, more lines around his face, but they were the kind of things that spoke of a life well lived.
Liv opened and closed her mouth.
No.
Was it...?
Could it be...?
But...how?
Two other people stood just behind him, their faces shrouded in shadow.
“John?” His name squeaked out of her as though forced. And maybe it was. Saying his name, giving credence to this hallucination would only drive home the fact that she was here. And still alone.
“Hi, Liv. It’s good to see you.” He smiled, took a few steps forward, and then stopped.
“Oh my goodness.” Liv had no such reservations. She rushed toward him, throwing her arms around John.
He hugged her just as tight as she held him.
To think, after all these years, he’d found her. While she was doing inventory, of all things. She peered up at him, still spying that same young man who’d made her laugh so hard she hadn’t realized he’d swept her off her feet.
John lifted his hand and brushed her hair off her face.
The light caught on a gold ring on his left finger.
John glanced at it and winced.
Liv felt the wind go out of her sails.
He was married.
Of course John would be married. He was a catch.
The sting of disappointment made her knees more than a bit weak.
“I’m a widower, two years now.” He stepped back and wiggled the band. “It...it’s hard to take it off.”
Her heart twinged. Loss was never easy.
She took his hand in hers and squeezed.
“What was her name?”
“Jessica.”
“Such a lovely name.”
“She was a good woman.”
“It’s so good to see you.” She hugged John again.
“I’ve thought about this moment for a long time.” Warmth shone from the depths of his eyes.
Liv’s throat closed up, robbing her of the ability to speak.
It was the same kind of feeling burning in her chest.
Was it possible to reconnect, back at that very moment they’d been separated all those years ago?
Owen grinned at her once before sliding through the swinging door.
Some fairy godmothers weren’t mothers at all. Sometimes they were scruffy young men with hearts of gold, and the world at their feet. What a good day for a story...
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