Before he could protest, Charley began to lower the window.
“Thanks.” He snatched the two bottles from the counter.
“My pleasure. Enjoy.”
Lunch in hand, Steven skirted the taco truck and strolled over to the tiny, wedge-shaped park bordered on one side by the river where he spent his working hours, and by Dockside Drive and the open sea on the others.
Not a bad place to eat a solitary meal.
Well, not quite solitary. The two gulls moved away from the table as he approached, but stayed close.
No problem.
They could hang around and enjoy the view of Pelican Point lighthouse on the soaring headland in the distance so long as they didn’t become a nuisance.
He sat, back to the town, and opened his tacos.
The aroma set off a loud rumble in his stomach, and he chuckled.
“Lucky no one’s around to hear that except me and you, isn’t it?” He aimed the comment toward the avian duo.
They waddled closer, watching him.
“You guys hungry?”
One of them cackled.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He broke off two small chunks of fish, tossed them to the couple, and focused on his own meal.
If he couldn’t eat with his brother’s family, this was the next best thing. A peaceful meal with delicious food, a world-class view, and amiable feathered companions.
He was going to relax and enjoy every bite.
He’d laughed—and fed the birds.
Those had to be positive signs, didn’t they? Indications of a fundamentally good nature—and a decent mood?
Holly hesitated at the entrance to the small park with the tiny manicured lawn and white gazebo, clutching her bag from Sweet Dreams bakery as she studied Steven Roark’s broad shoulders.
Funny how fate had a way of pushing you into decisions.
Despite her constant dithering over the past two days about whether to visit her neighbor and the fisherman again, she’d been no closer to a verdict by the end of school today than she’d been Monday night.
Hence the quick detour to Sweet Dreams for comfort food.
Who knew she’d spot Roark in the park?
And that sighting had to be providential. After all, what were the odds he’d be sitting in the gazebo at this hour of the day?
So march over and speak your piece, Holly.
Inhaling a lungful of the salty air, she squared her shoulders and gathered up her courage.
She could do this.
Crimping the top of the bakery bag in her fingers, she forced her legs to carry her toward him—but stopped several feet away. “Excuse me.”
He stiffened a hair . . . then slowly turned.
It was impossible to read his expression.
“I, uh, saw you as I was passing by and wondered if you’d given my donation request any more thought.”
His brow wrinkled.
Uh-oh.
She braced for an abrupt dismissal.
But instead of sending her packing, he looked past her, toward the shuttered taco stand. Glanced at the two bottles of water on the table. Expelled what sounded like a resigned breath.
“Why don’t you join me?” He stood and motioned to the picnic table.
Join him?
Her pulse picked up.
“Um . . . I don’t want to intrude.”
“I hate to eat alone.”
“Oh.” She adjusted the strap of her shoulder purse. If she wanted to plead her case again, this was an ideal opportunity. “I can sit for a few minutes.”
He moved down, leaving her ample room to slide onto the bench seat that faced the sea.
She eased onto the wooden plank, put the bakery bag on the table, and set her purse beside her.
Roark sat and slid a packet wrapped in white paper toward her, along with a bottle of water. “Help yourself.”
“Oh . . . no. I can’t take your lunch . . . or dinner.” She slid it back.
“You don’t like Charley’s tacos?”
“I love them, but—”
“Have one.” He pushed it toward her again and fished a few paper napkins out of the bag to go with it.
The man didn’t appear willing to take no for an answer.
“I’ll tell you what.” She opened her purse, felt around inside, and withdrew a plastic knife encased in cellophane. “I’ll eat a taco—if you’ll take half of my brownie.” She tapped the brown bag.
“Is it from Sweet Dreams?”
“Yes.”
“Deal.” He picked up his taco. “You always carry eating utensils with you?”
Was that a touch of amusement in his tone?
“I believe in being prepared.”
“Not a bad trait.” He went back to eating.
She unwrapped her taco, sending him a sidelong peek. Was he going to respond to her opening comment about a donation—or force her to bring it up again?
It might be best to wait a few minutes and see. Maybe he wanted to eat his meal in peace before they launched into business.
He concentrated on his taco, and she did the same, only the occasional boat whistle and the distant caw of a gull breaking the placid silence.
When she was halfway through her taco, he turned to her. “I hear you’re new in town.”
She almost choked on the bite she’d just swallowed.
Where had that comment come from?
Trying to suck in air, she grabbed her water, unscrewed the lid, and took a long swallow.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. If it’s any consolation, I do know the Heimlich maneuver.”
There was no missing his amusement this time.
So he had a sense of humor.
Another plus.
And another indication he might be more receptive to her appeal today than he’d been on Saturday.
“A handy skill—but I hope you haven’t had much reason to use it.”
“Not that one.”
Meaning what? That he possessed other medical skills too—and had been called upon to use those?
If so, was he talking about the kind of basic first aid he may have learned in case an emergency came up during a charter fishing trip—or did he have advanced training?
The latter, if her instincts were correct.
Since he didn’t offer anything more, however, her curiosity wasn’t likely to be satisfied today. And it wouldn’t be wise to risk shutting him down with questions he might not want to answer.
“I moved here right after Christmas. How did you know?”
“Charley mentioned it.”
What else had the taco chef shared?
She picked up a stray piece of shredded lettuce and tucked it back in the tortilla. “I came here to teach first grade.”
“So Charley said. My nephew, Jonah, is in your class.”
“I know. Lovely family.”
“Yeah.”
He fell silent again as she finished her taco, wiped the sauce off her fingers, and dug out the brownie.
“I got the last one.” She cut it in half and passed his share to him.
“Thanks.”
It was now or never.
“So . . .” Her pulse accelerated, and she took a steadying breath. “I was wondering if you’d decided to donate a fishing trip to our auction now that you’ve had a few days to think about it.”
He put the last bite of taco in his mouth and chewed. Swallowed. Took a swig of water.