Chapter 18
He shouldn’t have caved.
Aaron tugged at his tie, loosening it a tad as he inhaled the fresh, salty air.
But Isabel asked for so little, and she liked Devyn. Her nonstop chatter with their host as they walked the block and a half to the restaurant was proof of that if he’d had any doubts.
Which he didn’t.
Devyn was easy to like.
Too easy.
Trying to tamp down his frisky pulse, he risked a sidelong glance at her over Isabel’s head.
The beautiful ballerina was giving his daughter her full attention, asking questions that animated the little girl and resurrected the natural enthusiasm that had lain mostly dormant for too long.
It seemed a kind and caring woman’s touch was doing more than the counselor’s visits had ever done to lift her spirits.
So for the length of a breakfast, seeing his daughter glowing and happy was worth reneging on his vow to keep his distance from Devyn.
He kept mum for much of the walk, letting the two females chat, but once they were seated inside the Myrtle with menus in front of them, Isabel pulled him into the conversation.
“What’re you getting, Dad?”
“Guess.”
She grinned. “The breakfast skillet with potatoes, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and mushrooms.”
“Bingo.” He closed his menu. “I must be in a rut.”
“It sounds like a delicious rut, though.” Devyn continued to peruse the bill of fare. “But the blueberry pancakes are also calling to me. I wonder if I could get one on the side. Someone with excellent taste recommended them.” She winked at Isabel, eliciting a giggle.
“She could do that, couldn’t she, Dad?” His daughter turned to him.
“I’m sure they can accommodate any special requests.” He transferred his attention to their host. “But be warned. The skillet is more than generous. They don’t skimp on portions at the Myrtle.”
“I know. That’s why I’m a regular dinner customer. Or I was until Lauren began cooking more often.”
“You don’t like to cook?” He set his menu down.
“I don’t cook enough to be able to answer that question. Back in New York, my time is at a premium. Takeout is simpler if I want anything more than a salad or omelet or a basic stir-fry. Do you cook?”
“If I have to. But Gramp took over most of the cooking chores after . . . when he came to live with us.” No sense casting a pall on the conversation by mentioning Olivia.
The server came to take their order, and Devyn chose the skillet with a pancake on the side.
He took a sip of coffee to hide the quirk of his lips.
This ought to be interesting.
Despite her claim that she ate heartier than most people expected of a ballerina, a Myrtle breakfast with a side order would be a ton of food.
As the server left, Isabel returned to the previous topic. “Gramp cooks real good. Better than Dad. Mom didn’t cook much because she was gone a lot.”
So much for his efforts to avoid mentioning Olivia.
“It must be handy to have a live-in chef.” Devyn smiled at her, sidestepping Isabel’s comment about her mother.
“Uh-huh. I liked Mom’s stew, but she traveled for her job and didn’t make it very often. She was in charge of finding new customers for the computer company she worked for. Right, Dad?”
“Yes.” He set his coffee down and expanded on the explanation. “Olivia was a business development manager for an IT firm.”
Devyn nodded, then directed her next comment to Isabel. “I imagine that was an interesting job.”
“I ’spose.” Isabel shrugged. “I know she liked it. But she died in a car accident.” Her lips drooped.
“I know. I’m so sorry, honey.” Devyn reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I miss her a lot.”
“Of course you do. It’s normal to miss people you love.”
“Do you still have your mom?”
The subtle shift in Devyn’s features was difficult to interpret. “Yes, but she lives in Paris, so I don’t see her often.”
Paris?
Aaron straightened his fork as he digested that piece of news.
There must be a story there—perhaps one that would explain their host’s enigmatic look as she’d answered Isabel’s question.
Could he find a diplomatic way to get more information without coming across as nosey?
Before he could formulate a follow-up comment, Isabel jumped back in.
“There’s a famous tower in Paris, isn’t there?”
“Yes. The Eiffel Tower.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“Once, when I was there for work.”
“I don’t know too much about Paris—except that Madeline lives there.”
At Devyn’s obvious confusion, Aaron stepped in. “She’s the little girl from an old series of books set in Paris. Isabel came across them on a trip to the library, and the series provided us with bedtime stories for quite a while.”
“Oh. That Madeline.” Devyn’s expression cleared. “I read those books as a child too.”
Isabel set her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm. “Do you travel very much in your job?”
“Some. Most of the time I’m in New York, but I’ve been to quite a few cities around the world on tour, or for the short projects I often take on during the summer.”
“I haven’t been very far from home. Only places we can drive.”
Devyn offered her a smile that seemed a tad wistful. “Sometimes home is the best place to be.”
Curious.
She almost sounded as if she’d prefer being home to all the glitzy globe-trotting she’d done.
But when she thought of home, what came to mind—New York or her younger years in Hope Harbor? And how had her mother ended up so far from the tiny town where Devyn had been born?
Their server arrived with their orders, ending his musings, and once their plates were in front of them, Isabel dived in, giving eating priority over conversation.
A hush fell over their table while banter and laughter flowed around them.
As Aaron struggled to come up with an innocuous topic—or a subtle way to inquire about Devyn’s mother—to fill the sudden silo of silence, their host took charge of the conversation.
“This is quite a spread.” She surveyed her overflowing skillet and the pancake beside it that filled a dinner plate.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He draped his napkin over his lap. “But you can always take home what’s left and have it for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Assuming there is anything left.” She picked up her fork. “I’m hungry this morning.”
He hitched up one side of his mouth and waved toward her plate. “Have at it, then.”
With a gusto rivaling Isabel’s, she tackled the humongous breakfast.
Four bites into the skillet, she closed her eyes. Sighed. “This is amazing. A huge step up from the bagels I’ve been subsisting on here. Lauren is a cereal person, but I like a bigger breakfast. Now that she’s home and we’re settling into an eating routine, I need to stock up on heartier fare.”
“What do you usually eat for breakfast in New York?” Aaron speared a mushroom.
“Oatmeal, eggs and toast, fruit, turkey sausage, a smoothie. Those are the go-to menu items I tend to gravitate to.” She broke off a bite of pancake with the edge of her fork.
“I imagine you eat a substantial breakfast too. My sister told me you work at the mill, so I imagine you expend quite a few calories a day. Did you go there right out of school?”
“No. After I got my business degree, I worked in Coos Bay for five years with an investment firm.” As he tacked on the name of the well-known national company that had a branch office a few miles north, he frowned.
Providing the name hadn’t been necessary. Nor his academic credentials.
In fact, since coming home to Hope Harbor, he rarely mentioned his degree or earlier career—and never the company he’d worked for in Coos Bay.
But for reasons he didn’t care to dwell on, he wanted this accomplished woman to know he was well educated and had had options other than the mill if he’d chosen to pursue them.
“That’s an intriguing career shift.” After setting the stage for him to say more if he wanted to, Devyn went back to eating.
May as well continue. What would be the harm in telling her a few more details?
“Not a total shift. The mill was my summer job during high school and college, and I liked the work. More than sitting in an office all day.”
“I hear you. A desk job wouldn’t be my preference, either. What do you do at the mill?”
“I’m the supervisor.”
“Ah. A management position.”
“In name, anyway. There are days the job is more physical than mental.”
Her gaze dropped to his chest before zipping back to his face. “I, uh, imagine that helps you stay in shape.”
He tried to ignore the sizzle sparking in the air around him. “That, and trying to keep up with the younger set.” He tipped his head toward Isabel, who was still giving the pancakes her undivided attention.
Devyn’s features softened. “I’m sure that’s a special challenge now. Lauren filled me in on your situation. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. But Gramp’s been a huge help. Having family close by is a blessing.
” Time to shift the spotlight back to her—and see if he could glean a bit more information about the situation with her mother.
“Speaking of family, it was lucky you were available to help Lauren after the accident, despite the cross-county trip involved. But at least you didn’t have to travel cross-continent, like your mom would have had to do. ”
The indecipherable look was back. “Even if Mom were close, she doesn’t do well with health crises. Now that Dad is gone, for all practical purposes it’s just me and Lauren.”
There was definitely something lacking in her relationship with her mother. With Isabel at the table, however, this wasn’t the time to explore that subject. Instead, he focused on her comment about her dad. “Your father was a nice man.”
Her eyes warmed. “Yes, he was. The best. I wish I’d been able to visit more often.”
“I gather your job keeps you on the go.”
“That’s an understatement. There’s no downtime during the season. Classes and rehearsals and costume fittings and performances fill up my days. And I often take guest roles during the off season.”
“Do you ever get tired of such a fast pace?”