Change of Plans

by Dylan Newton

Genres: Family Life; Small Town & Rural

Synopsis

A hometown hero comes to the rescue of a struggling chef unexpectedly caring for three little girls who may end up saving him too, in this romantic comedy that perfectly balances depth, charm, and all the feels.

When disaster strikes and chef Bryce Weatherford is given guardianship of her three young nieces, her life goes from cooking with fire…to controlling a dumpster fire. Five‑year‑old Addison refuses to remove her fairy wings, eight‑year‑old Cecily won't bathe, and tween June is majoring in belligerence. With all this chaos, Bryce jettisons hope for a life outside of managing her family and her new job.
 
It's been years since Ryker Matthews had his below‑the‑knee amputation, yet the phantom pain for his lost limb and Marine career haunts him. To cope, he focuses on his vehicle restoration business. He knows he's lucky to be alive. Yet, “lucky” feels more like “cursed” to his lonely heart.  
 
When Ryker literally sweeps Bryce off her feet in the grocery store's baby aisle, they both feel sparks. But falling in love would be one more curveball neither is ready to deal with… or is it exactly the change of plans they need?

 

 

Release date: August 1, 2023

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 368

Sample

Chapter 1

Bryce Weatherford examined the pull-ups section of the grocery aisle, baffled by how much information you needed to buy a kid diapers.

She glanced over at her twelve-year-old niece. “June, how much does Addie weigh? She’s not fifty pounds yet, is she?”

June snorted, her face buried in her phone. “How would I know? That’s a question for a responsible parent. Why don’t you go find one?”

Bryce gritted her teeth and beckoned Addison closer. Her five-year-old niece was flitting from black square to beige square on the grocery store floor, the yellow, glittery wings vibrating on the harness around her back as she jumped, singing something under her breath.

“C’mere, Addie-bell. Let me pick you up.”

Trying to remember what it felt like to haul in those fifty-pound bags of rice at Chez Pierre—a lifetime ago when she’d been their sauté chef and completely in control of her kitchen and her life—Bryce hefted her youngest niece, who shrieked and giggled.

“I’m flyin’, Aunt Beamer! See me?”

Bryce grunted, holding the little girl up by the armpits. Her gold-glitter-glued sneakers dangled a foot from the floor.

“Oof. You’re flying, all right. All thirty-five pounds of you. Maybe forty, but you get medium-sized pull-ups.” Bryce set her down. “Don’t run, Addie-bell, and stay in this aisle where I can see you.”

Addison grinned at her, her blond hair and pixie-like face all sweet innocence. “Only, fairies like to run, an’ I’m the fastest fairy runner in all the worllllldddd!”

And like a hummingbird, she was off, dashing from one side of the aisle to the other, snatching at low-hanging packages of baby toys, squeezing three of them to see if they squeaked, then trying and failing to re-hook them onto the strip where they’d dangled, tantalizingly, just for grabby hands like hers. With a backward grin at her aunt, she tossed the baby toys atop a shelf of formula and twirled away before Bryce could decide whether this was what the counselor would label “a scolding event.” Probably not.

Nothing was broken. Addie got so much joy from playing fairy, and Lord knew these girls had experienced little of that lately. Bryce figured any responsible mother figure wouldn’t get uptight about Addison ruining a baby toy display.

Right?

Selecting the proper pull-ups, Bryce winced at the price. Addison had been wetting the bed at night for the past six months. Initially it had worried Bryce, yet the court-required therapist assured her that regression was common in grieving children. While she’d rather be spending this same amount on a really good Roquefort, the pull-ups—and not being woken at 2 a.m. to change the sheets—beat the cheese.

Yet she weighed the package in her hand, debating. Dry sheets? Or an aged blue cheese to go with her last bottle of sauternes wine? The debate she’d never anticipated having seesawed in her sleep-deprived brain as she pushed the grocery cart down to the end of the aisle.

“Aunt Beamer, you’re missing a kid,” June said, interrupting the mental conundrum. Her tween niece wore a pair of black jeans, zombie-killer boots, and a black long-sleeved tee that said It’s a beautiful day to leave me alone. Her long brown hair was tied in a low ponytail. She rolled her eyes, lowering her phone just enough to gesture with her chin behind them.

Following the chin-point, Bryce groaned, tossing the toddler pull-ups into the cart as she spotted her third niece sprawled on the floor trying to reach something under the bottom shelf of the baby food aisle.

“Cecily! Stop messing around and get out from there,” she hissed, bending to tug on the dirty ankles of her eight-year-old niece. Cecily had refused to wear weather-appropriate clothes for the cold, drizzly day that passed for spring in Western New York, insisting that her long basketball shorts were as warm as jeans. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I dropped my lucky rock, and it rolled under,” came Cecily’s muffled voice from beneath the shelving unit. “I had to reach really far to get it, and now I’m stuck. But you wouldn’t believe how much change is under here. How much is two dimes and a quarter?”

“Forty-five cents,” Bryce answered, belatedly realizing she should’ve let the girl figure out the math on her own. Another caregiver fail, and she was about to commit one more parenting sin: bribery. “Let go of the change and the rock so I can pull you out, and I’ll give you a dollar.”

“Two dollars,” bargained her niece, “and I get to pick out the cookies this week.”

“Done,” she muttered, flipping her braid over the other shoulder as she knelt down to peer under the lowest metal shelf, her palms on the store’s dirty floor and her cheek perilously close to the same. “Now let go so I can unstick you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a tall man with a baby in his cart pull into the aisle. She levered herself onto one hand, snapping her finger at Addison, who was currently twirling in circles close to the approaching stranger, oblivious to everything as she sang and stared at the lights overhead.

“Addison, stop twirling and come here! You’re going to knock something over.” Then she turned to Cecily, tugging on her shoulder, but the girl was either resisting or was really stuck. Bryce figured it for the former and sighed in exasperation. “C’mon, Cici! The manager is going to kick us out if you guys can’t behave.”

“You know, we all identify as female in this family, and calling us ‘guys’ is sexist and promotes the toxic belief in male superiority.” June speared her with a green-eyed glare. “And before you resort to ‘girls,’ keep in mind society uses that term for groups of females as a pre—a per…prerogative.”

“Pejorative,” Bryce corrected, clenching her jaw against the urge to swear. “And it’s not an insult when the group of girls you’re addressing aren’t yet old enough to vote. As for calling you ‘guys,’ that’s my bad. But you can’t work for eight years in an all-male kitchen and not have sustained testosterone poisoning from it all. Now, can you put your phone down and help me here?”

With the amount of all-suffering, put-upon-ness matched only by biblical martyrs and hormonal teens everywhere, June stuffed her phone into her pocket and shuffled in her black chunky boots to half-heartedly tug on Cecily’s leg.

“Owwww!” Cecily howled.

Bryce closed her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that her brother was here. Bentley would have his daughters sweetly compliant in a heartbeat, his wife and his sister laughing over it later, everyone succumbing to his easygoing charm and ability to put things in perspective. If Bentley were here…Bryce wouldn’t be wrangling her nieces. She’d be over a thousand miles away, standing at her ten-burner Vulcan range as she crafted another soup to complement Pierre’s menu, dreaming of the next starred review for the Tampa restaurant.

But Bentley was dead, and his wife with him.

All she had left of her brother were his children and his wish that she be their sole guardian.

Bryce shoved thoughts of Bentley to the background where they’d been on constant simmer and focused on the dumpster fire that was today.

“Cecily, stop yelling!” Bryce hollered over her. She gave up on avoiding the gross factor and lay down on the grimy floor in her white chef’s coat, pressing her cheek against the tiles, using her cell phone’s light to peer into the darkness at her niece. It appeared she’d wedged herself between two support legs of the store shelves. She’d somehow have to twist the girl to the left and pull at the same time to get her out. “Cici, turn your head until your cheek is lying on the floor, like mine.”

Bryce shoved her own arm in up to the shoulder, attempting to put her palm between Cecily’s face and the sharp edges of the metal shelf above her, but it was too close. Her niece was truly stuck. Panicked thoughts of having to call the police or worse—the girls’ maternal grandparents—and explain what had happened made sweat prickle at her scalp.

No. She was going to figure this out.

And she’d do it without any injury to Cecily that would require paperwork to be completed and add to the mountain of reasons Adele and Harvey Payne already had for why Bryce wasn’t capable to act as their granddaughters’ guardian.

“Are you a pirate?” Bryce heard Addison ask someone as she pressed down and pulled on Cecily’s shoulder. “’Cause I’m looking for Captain Hook, who stole Peter Pan’s ship.”

Bryce glanced up from the floor and noticed two things at once: the man Addison had called a pirate was standing a few feet away.

And he was hot as hell. He had close-cut dirty-blond hair, and a hard-edged face with thick eyebrows that bunched over a pair of deep-set blue eyes that gave him a sexy brooding vibe, like a grumpy Viking. From her position on the floor, the guy appeared tall and muscular, and he looked vaguely familiar. Bryce figured maybe she’d seen him come into PattyCakes—her tiny workstation at the bakery’s kitchen stove gave her a partial view of the dining area and she’d gotten to recognize most of the regulars in town—but she couldn’t place him. He was dressed like he’d come from the gym in a Buffalo Bills cap and black long-sleeved shirt with a matching pair of long mesh shorts. Her niece was currently clutching the man’s left leg…which ended in a metallic spring-like prosthesis below the knee.

The pirate comment suddenly made the worst kind of sense.

The man glanced down at Addison and gave a half smile. The expression transformed his face, like the sun emerging from behind a storm cloud, and that momentary softening of his fierce expression was as surprising as it was mesmerizing.

“Aye, lassie.” The man’s faux brogue made her simultaneously think of the Outlander series and every sexy, pirate-themed movie she’d ever watched. Like a gas burner twisted to medium-high, Bryce felt her dormant libido tick to life. As his voice continued in that sexy rumble, flames, hot and eager, raced through her body. “But I’m retired from the high seas, and not even Davy Jones himself can make me return! ’Tis not me yer lookin’ for, little Tinker Bell.”

“I’m not Tinker Bell. I’m Addie-bell, and I think you’re lyin’ to me, pirate.” Addison yanked a plastic cutlass from her pants, and Bryce wondered how that child always managed to stuff toys in the most unlikely places. “Now, fight me, Hook!”

Then she gave the hot guy—who happened to be pushing a cart with a baby inside—a mighty jab with her sword.

Right in his junk.

With a surprised Oof, the guy doubled over, hands on both of his knees.

“Addie, no!” Bryce yelped.

Addison brandished her sword in triumph, a manic grin on her elfin face. “Ha! Got you, pirate! Hand over my friend’s boat, or I’ll make you walk the flank!”

With that odd threat, her niece jabbed again.

Bryce had lunged to her feet, hoping to stop the fake sword from bashing the guy in the head but knowing she’d never get there in time, when the man’s hand shot out, fast as a snake.

“Nay, lassie. I am not your enemy.” The man held the pointed end of the cutlass, his grip unwavering, even as Addison tugged on the weapon with all her fairy-sized might. He straightened slowly, but his free hand stayed down by his balls in a defensive cup Bryce recognized from playing football with her brothers and his friends.

The guy must be cramping so bad.

Unbidden, a giggle bubbled out of Bryce, attracting the man’s gaze. When the laser-like blue stare hit her, she clapped a hand over her mouth, willing away the laughter she’d always had for pratfalls and slapstick situations. This was serious. Her niece had nailed a guy in the prunes. He might really be hurt.

Recalling when these mishaps had happened to Bentley when they were growing up, she sprang into action, snatching a bag of frozen vegetables out of her grocery cart.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stumbled over the words, willing herself not to laugh again. It wasn’t funny. The man was obviously suffering. She saw the pained lines of his mouth as he held his ground with the furiously fighting fairy at his feet. The guy was intimidatingly handsome, so Bryce moved only close enough to snatch Addison by the upper arm, reeling her and her plastic sword out of fighting range.

Bryce held up the vegetables, like a peace offering.

“Here. Hold this on there. It’ll help with the cramps.”

She tossed the bag of frozen corn at him. But she’d been so distracted by those sensuous lips and perfectly stubbled jaw that her aim was off. She’d misjudged the distance and force of her underhand throw, and the bagged corn swooped up and between his legs.

Scoring him in the jewels once again.

“Mmph!” The frozen package smacked the floor next to his sneaker, and the cute baby buckled into his cart’s front seat burbled a laugh, pointing with one chubby finger at the unintended crotch missile.

“I—I didn’t…I’m sorry.” Bryce choked back a giggle, biting the inside of her lip. It was totally uncool to laugh while the guy was doubled over after a plastic cutlass and a bag of corn to the nuts. But damn, was it funny! A few snorting giggles came out before she was able to rein herself in enough to ask, “A-are you okay?”

“Depends. If I say yes, are you going to sic the rest of your pack on me?” the guy asked, without a Scottish accent, his forehead even with his baby’s in the cart. Delighted, the little one gave up her stuffed book to grab her father’s ears, twisting them and shrieking in glee. Bryce noticed that the man’s left ear had a notch taken out of it, high up on the stiff ridge of the cartilage. He continued speaking, his head bowed under his baseball cap. “Because if that’s the case, I’ll surrender my pirate vessel and my grocery cart, both. Just no more shots to the groin. Please.”

Bryce bit both cheeks, feeling her abs contract with the laughter she held inside as she managed to squeak out, “I’m sorry. I was trying to help.”

He lifted his head enough to look the chortling baby directly in the eyes, and the hard lines of his face softened. He touched his nose to the girl’s teeny button nose, rubbing to the left and right in what Bryce’s dad used to call “polar bear kisses.”

“You think that’s funny? I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me, too, little Lisi.”

Bryce’s urge to laugh evaporated as the sweet sight left her heart melting like butter, oozing into a puddle at the bottom of her chest. If she captioned this picture in her mind it would read: Find a man who gazes at you with the adoration this father has for his baby.

“In-garden!” Addison, sensing weakness, tugged away from Bryce to brandish her plastic cutlass again.

This time, Bryce snatched the weapon away and swooped to grab the frozen vegetables from the floor, putting both in her grocery cart. She set the gallon of milk on top of the toy sword as insurance against her niece using it once more for evil.

“It’s en garde, and you’re done fencing. You hurt this man, and you need to tell him you’re sorry,” Bryce said.

Addison mumbled an apology, then twirled away. She dashed to the cart, where she swung herself up to stand innocently grinning, while her blue eyes darted to gauge the difficulty in reclaiming her cutlass.

Bryce gave her own apologetic smile as the man straightened. “Sorry. She likes to play fairy. All the time. She won’t take off her wings, even for school—since her parents passed, she’s confused fairies with angels and—”

Suddenly, Cecily shrieked from under the shelving unit. The high-pitched sound was like an ear-busting fire alarm, both in its inability to be ignored as well as decibel-topping tone.

Bryce jumped and spun in one movement, rushing toward the sound before making a conscious decision, and Cecily stopped squealing enough to shout.

“Quit pulling! You’re ripping off my arm!”

“What?” June asked, in faux confusion, holding her hands up in an “it wasn’t me” gesture as she sat back on her heels. “You told me to pull and get her out, didn’t you?”

Bryce made herself take a calming breath. It didn’t help.

June must’ve sensed she’d pushed a little too far because she let go of her sister and joined Addison next to the cart, pulling out her phone once more. Bryce knelt on the floor next to Cecily, heaving a frustrated sigh. “Cici, you’ve got to scoot yourself backward and to the left. Or you’re going to spend the night sleeping under the baby food.”

To her surprise, the man with the bruised balls wheeled his cart over. “Can I help?”

Bryce looked up, noticing with appreciation his muscled arms. His shirt was one of those Dri-FIT jobs and she could see his well-defined biceps. She felt herself staring a beat too long, but before she could refocus, her gaze caught sight of the guy’s forearms. Suddenly, it was as if Bryce’s brain stuttered to a stop. Some girls were chest and ab girls, some dug a guy with a nice ass—and that was great, but Bryce herself was an arm girl. Give her bulging biceps and strong, corded forearms, lightly dusted with hair, and she was off. And this guy’s sleeves were shoved up, showing every glorious inch up to the elbow…

She dragged her gaze away from his arms—although she did note he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—and she nodded.

“I’d appreciate it. I don’t want to call the manager. If they have to bring in the Jaws of Life to get her out, I’m screwed from ever getting guardianship of my nieces.” Bryce knew she was babbling, but the man had bent down to peek under the shelf at the situation, sending a whiff of his warm, woodsy cologne or body spray or whatever her way, and she sensed her libido moving from simmer to a rolling boil. “June and Addie—can you please watch Mr.…uh, what is your name?”

“Ryker,” he replied, straightening. He released his hold on the cart when Addie came bouncing over with June at her heels.

The unusual last name pinged in her head, but Bryce was certain she hadn’t met him before. Surely, she’d have remembered those forearms? But then again, these past months in Wellsville had felt similar to stepping on dry land after a day spent Jet-Skiing in the choppy waters of the Tampa Bay—she was in a constant state of dizzying vertigo as she struggled to keep her feet pointed in the right direction. So it was possible she’d met this guy, and in her exhaustion-fogged brain she’d forgotten.

“Watch Mr. Ryker’s baby while he looks to see if we can get Cecily out from under here?”

June huffed but obeyed, stashing her phone and pulling his cart out of the middle of the aisle as the man looked on, trepidation in his face. But when June and Addison began a game of peekaboo, making the baby erupt in deep belly laughs, his expression relaxed, and he crouched down, peering under the shelf. Seconds later, the laser-blue eyes were on Bryce once more.

“My arms are longer, so I’ll take that side. Her shoulders are stuck, and she’ll have to wiggle in deeper, get her arm down by her side, and then dip her shoulders around the shelf’s floor brace. Then we can tug her out. Ready?” At Bryce’s nod, the guy stepped over Cecily’s prone body, switching sides with Bryce. Without hesitation, he lay flat on the grocery store floor, adjusting his baseball cap to put his face right up to the edge of the bottom shelf that held the larger jars of baby food as well as some disgusting concoction of pasta and vegetables so overcooked and oversalted she wondered how anyone would feed the crap to a defenseless baby.

Bryce flopped down on the other side, her hand patting Cecily’s calf in reassurance.

“Hey, Cecily, Mr. Ryker has an idea of how to get you out. Listen to him, okay?”

“’Kay,” she said. “Before I get out, can I roll my rock to you, Aunt Beamer?”

It was useless to argue, so she agreed, and a flat, gray rock came shooting out. Bryce caught it, lifting up on her hip long enough to get it into her pocket, then activated her cell phone’s flashlight, shining it under the shelves.

“Hi, Cecily.” Mr. Ryker’s voice came from the other side of her niece. “Looks like you got wedged in there. Once when I was a kid, my dad had to cut the back off our kitchen chair because I got my legs stuck sitting in it backward. But this’ll be way easier. Scoot your head up to where you dropped that dime, and don’t stop until your nose is even with the coin.”

Cecily’s little body wriggled in farther, and Bryce swallowed her objections as most of the shelving unit devoured her niece’s legs, leaving only her untied sneakers visible.

“Good.” The man’s voice was calm and cheerful as he coached her through putting her arm down to her side, and then wriggling backward first in one direction, then another, as if this were a standard, grocery store catastrophe he’d seen a million times. “Now, use your left arm to push yourself to us and keep your right one by your side, and your aunt is going to pull. If anything hurts, tell us and we’ll stop.”

Slowly, Bryce dragged Cecily’s body out by the ankle, then by her knee, then holding her narrow hips. The girl’s black athletic shorts were covered in massive dust bunnies comprised of dirt, wadded hair, and God only knew what else.

Cecily tried to get up on her knees and pull herself the rest of the way out, and then she yelped.

“Ow! Something’s poking me!”

Bryce shoved her hand up, feeling immediately what it was—the bottom of the shelving unit had a plastic pricing tag holder that dipped slightly lower than the shelf, and it was scratching down the middle of Cecily’s back.

“It’s this.” Bryce turned off her cell light and pocketed her phone. She wrestled with the plastic holder, but it was bolted to the shelf.

The guy sat up and watched Bryce struggle with the bolted holder.

“Here. That plastic is going to cut you if you’re not careful. I’ve got it.”

His large hand replaced hers, callus-roughened palm brushing against the outside of her hand. A prickle of awareness went through Bryce at the warmth of that brief touch, and she caught the flash of his glance. Had he felt it, too? Remnants of the old, easygoing Bryce loomed up inside her, and she had a sudden desire to flirt. Smile, maybe crack some joke and—

There was a metallic pop, and her gaze returned to Cecily. With one quick jerk, the man yanked the entire contraption out of the shelving unit, bolt and all. Although his muscles bulged, Bryce averted her gaze, focusing on her niece. She wasn’t the old Bryce. Not anymore.

Addison oohed in appreciation behind them. “You’re the strongest pirate I’ve ever seen!”

Bryce shook her head. “Addie,” she said, warningly, but then Cecily was wriggling out and Bryce was helping her niece to her feet, scanning her from dirty head to grubby toe. No blood. No limbs broken or hanging at odd angles. Cici was okay. Bryce gave her a quick hug.

“Thank you,” Bryce said as the man pushed off the floor to stand easily, dusting off his workout attire. “I don’t know how much of a scene we’d have made if it weren’t for you saving the day. We owe you, don’t we, Cici?”

Before she’d prompted her to thank him, Cecily crossed over, going in for a hug. She wrapped her scrawny arms around the guy’s waist. The man’s whole body stilled as she embraced him, and his face took on a funny, almost wistful expression.

“Hey.” He patted Cecily’s back awkwardly. “Glad I could help.”

“Thanks, Mr. Ryker.” Cecily released him. Then, turning to grin at Bryce, she opened her fist to reveal a handful of coins she’d hauled out with her. “Plus, now I’m rich. Can I get gum when we leave, Aunt Beamer?”

Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the grocery cart with the man’s daughter, cooing along with her sisters at the beautiful, wispy-red-haired baby inside and showing her sisters the booty she’d discovered.

Bryce wiped herself off, noting with a grimace that her chef’s coat was now smudged with grime all down the front, and walked with Mr. Ryker to their respective carts. The girls, seeing him approach, did one more peekaboo game with the baby—he’d said her name was Lisi—and then scattered to their own cart, June hauling out her phone and Cecily counting her change as Addison twirled in circles just out of reach and always in the way.

“Well, thanks again for the help,” Bryce said. “You were the hero we didn’t deserve.”

“Your little fairy had it right—I’m more pirate than hero.” He tossed the ruined price-tag holder into his cart next to a bottle of baby shampoo and two sad cans of pour-and-heat soup. Then he hesitated, his expression guarded as he adjusted his baseball cap. “Hey, uh, I didn’t get your name—”

Suddenly, it was as if a bomb went off behind them.

Bang! Bang-BANG!

Before Bryce registered the sound, she, her nieces, and the cart with little Lisi were corralled to the aisle’s endcap. In two heartbeats, the guy had placed himself between them and the noise, like a human shield.

“Get down!” he yelled, smooshing them toward the floor while huddling over the baby in the cart. They all ducked at his command.

Her heart hammered in her throat as she clutched her nieces to her, even June scuttled to crouch under Bryce’s arms. But after a few seconds, as The Weeknd’s “Save Your Tears” continued to play and there was no emergency announcement, Bryce peeked around the man’s leg.

There was no crazed, gun-toting shopper.

But there was a mess.

Three jars of baby food lay smashed on the floor. Bryce put the clues together and realized she and her nieces had likely caused this upset.

“Um, I think we’re good now,” she said to the Viking-strong man crouching over them. “It was just baby food. We must’ve thrown those jars off-balance while we were rescuing Cecily.”

Mr. Ryker looked over his shoulder, confirming her words. Then he stood. His ears flushed bright red, and before she could say anything, he’d unlatched his baby and scooped her out of the cart. Cradling her head with his free palm, he rounded the endcap, his long legs eating up massive chunks of aisle as he fast-walked through an empty checkout lane and through th. . .