“I was happy to help.”
“I appreciate that—but it had to be an inconvenience.” He opened the bag of tacos, waved it under her nose, and motioned to the blanket. “Join us?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not fair. That smell is hard to resist.”
“Please stay.” Molly edged closer to Jeannette and touched his neighbor’s hand.
The brief flash of dismay on Jeannette’s face was telling.
She might be able to say no to him, but she had a soft spot for his niece.
Too bad it didn’t extend to him—but hey. Whatever worked to keep her here.
“I guess I can stay for a couple of tacos.” She lowered herself to a corner of the blanket and gave Toby a disgruntled look as he trotted over. “Oh, sure, now that we’re staying you want to get up close and personal.” She scratched behind his ear.
“With us . . . and the food.” Logan claimed the other side of the blanket and patted the spot between them. “Come sit, Molly.”
She dropped down beside Jeannette instead.
He tried not to let her rebuff bother him as he set the food bags in the center of the blanket and dispensed the tacos.
But it hurt.
“Milk for you”—he handed his niece a small carton with a straw attached—“and a selection for us.” He lined up four soft drink cans on the blanket along with two bottles of water.
Jeannette chose a diet Sprite. “It took some effort to put this all together.” The carbonation hissed out as she released the tab.
“Easier than cooking.” He claimed a full-octane Coke.
“I can’t argue with that—and Charley’s tacos are much better than the tuna salad in my fridge that was slated to be my dinner. Let me help you with that, honey.” She took the milk carton from Molly, detached the straw with one deft twist, and fitted it through the opening.
Like she’d been through that drill a million times.
Curious.
He hadn’t even noticed Molly was having difficulty with the carton, and it would have taken him a moment to determine how to release the straw. Jeannette had done it on autopilot.
How did she know so much about kids? Could it be an instinctive female skill—or was there more to her story?
Molly dived into her taco. “Charley cooks good.”
“Yes, he does.” Jeannette took a big bite.
“I drawed a picture for him.” Molly angled toward their neighbor—a clear signal she didn’t intend to include him in the conversation.
Logan tried to ignore the tiny twist in his gut.
“Tell me about it.” Jeannette gave the child her full attention.
Molly described her rendering in detail. “He put it on his wall and said it might help me find a friend. And it did! Do you think Charley is magic?”
Jeannette smiled. “I don’t know about that—but he does have a magic touch with tacos. Don’t you think so, Logan?”
“Yep.” He left it at that. While he appreciated her effort to include him in the conversation, his participation could shut Molly down—and he’d rather watch her interact with his neighbor. It gave him a glimpse of the kind of relationship they could have if she ever let him into her life.
If being the operative word.
So far it had been a long, slow slog—and some days, for every step forward they took, it felt as if they slipped two steps back.
Yet as he sat here in what any third-party onlooker would assume was a family group, he didn’t feel quite as dejected as usual—thanks to Jeannette.
And as the meal wound down, he wasn’t ready for this interlude to end.
“Molly, would you like to play with Toby for a few minutes before we go home?” He kept his tone casual.
The dog’s ears perked up, and he popped to his feet, abandoning his fruitless food-scrap vigil at the edge of the blanket.
“By myself?” Her last bite of brownie froze halfway to her mouth.
“Jeannette and I will be right here. Just stay back from the edge of the water.”
She shoved the fudgy confection into her mouth and jumped up, as if she was afraid he’d change his mind.
“Come on, Toby.” She raced down the beach, the dog barking happily at her heels.
Once she was out of earshot, Logan shifted his attention to Jeannette. “Any problems with her today?”
“No. She’s a delightful child. But she misses her Nana.”
“She talked to you about that?” In his presence, Molly was as taciturn about personal subjects as the woman sitting across from him.
“Indirectly. While we were making sachets, she mentioned that her grandmother liked to knit—and she told me how she used to help her wind yarn into balls. She also talked about them baking chocolate chip cookies together. It’s obvious your mom’s death left a huge hole in her life.”
“Yeah.” He sighed and sifted some sand through his fingers. “One I haven’t been able to fill.”
“You’ve only had her four months—and she’s dealing with a ton of heavy stuff. If you keep loving her, she’ll come around.”
“I don’t know. I used to think that was true, but I’m beginning to wonder if love is enough. She should be talking to someone—but she clams up around me. I’ve been considering professional help.”
“Like a counselor?”
“Yeah.”
“Mmm.” Jeannette watched the two small figures romping on the beach. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt—but she and Elisa seem to have become fast friends. That could make a difference.”
“Maybe.” He ran his palm over the sand, until the surface was smooth and unblemished again. “She likes you too. I’m the one she’s having an issue warming up to.”
“You took the place of her Nana. That’s a challenging role to fill.” Jeannette folded her napkin into a precise square, giving the task more attention than it deserved. “I got the impression it was just the two of them after her father died.”
“It was.”
She didn’t ask any more questions—but they hung in the air nonetheless.
Logan brushed off his hands and filled his lungs with the tangy air. Why not tell Jeannette the whole story? Maybe if he shared some of his family history with her, she’d reciprocate down the road. It wasn’t as if Molly’s background was a state secret, after all.
He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his palms. “If you have a few minutes, I could tell you why there haven’t been many people in Molly’s life.”
“I have to admit I’ve been curious about that.”
“You’re not alone. The local newspaper editor almost sweet-talked me into divulging details I’d decided weren’t for general consumption.”
Jeannette’s lips flexed. “Marci is very likeable—and she manages to wheedle an incredible amount of information out of people . . . as I learned from experience.”
“She did a story on you?”
“A small one, not long after I arrived.”
He’d have to dig through some back issues of the Herald and see what he could discover about the reticent woman who’d shared dinner with him on the beach.
“I think she missed her calling. She’d have been an ace investigative reporter.”