Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,15
more ribbons on our next trip to town? Would you like that?”
She shrugged, set the mirror down, and traipsed back to the kitchen.
He raked his fingers through his hair.
If this kept up, he might have to enlist the aid of a child psychologist or counselor.
Back in the kitchen, he pulled out a cookie for each of them and handed hers over. “Let’s see if we like these.”
After giving his heart-shaped piece of shortbread a skeptical scan, he sniffed it.
Not as pungent as he’d expected.
In fact, the cookie’s faint, pleasing aroma didn’t smell anything like Gram’s cloying, old-fashioned perfume—his only previous contact with lavender.
But could you bake palatable sweets from flowers?
“It’s good.” Molly had dived into hers with no qualms and was several bites ahead of him.
Question answered—and high praise, coming from a child who exemplified the term “picky eater.”
He took a tentative nibble.
Buttery richness dissolved on his tongue, leaving a faint hint of lemon and an undertone of mint.
Whoa.
The cookie was better than good.
It was delicious.
He finished it in three bites and pulled out a second one as Molly eyed the package. “Want another?”
She nodded.
They ate in silence for sixty seconds, until Molly spoke. “The cookie lady is nice.”
“Yes, she is.” At the very least.
“Could we go see her again?” Molly took a bite of her treat, watching him.
“I’ll have to think about that.”
“Why?”
Because Jeannette Mason was too much of a temptation for a man who needed to keep his priorities straight and get his life in order before diving into any new relationships.
But he couldn’t tell that to a five-year-old.
“I think she’s busy.”
“Doing what?”
Of all the topics that could have prompted his niece to start asking questions, why did it have to be this one?
“Well, she grows flowers . . . and makes cookies . . . and runs her tearoom.” The “and tearoom” part of her Bayview Lavender Farm sign at the entrance had finally registered as they’d walked home.
Molly’s brow puckered. “What’s a tearoom?”
“A place where people go to drink tea and eat little sandwiches and fancy cakes.”
At least he thought that’s what it was.
“Like a tea party?”
“Uh . . . yeah. I guess so.”
“Nana and me had tea parties.” Her face grew wistful. “They were fun.”
His brain began clicking.
If Molly liked tea parties, why not take her to one? See if that would help break down the wall she’d erected between them?
But a whole afternoon of delicate china cups . . . froufrou bites of food . . . lace and lavender and clusters of ladies nibbling and chattering?
He’d rather clean a toilet with a toothbrush.
This isn’t about you, West. It’s about bonding and helping a little girl through her grief. Suck it up.
Right.
Shoring up his resolve, he took a swig of milk and bit the bullet. “You know, I’ve never been to a tea party or a tearoom. Do you think we should go to tea at Ms. Mason’s?”
A tiny spark of animation lit up her eyes. “Will there be other little girls there?”
“I don’t know. It may just be ladies.”
She played with the crumbs on the napkin in front of her. “Do you think the cookie lady might have a little girl?”
“I doubt it. I haven’t seen anyone else around her place—and I don’t think she’s married.”
“How do you know?”
“She isn’t wearing a wedding ring.”
“Did you look?”
Was she kidding?
Any normal single man would do a ring check on someone like Jeannette within two seconds of meeting her.
However . . . the lack of a ring wasn’t conclusive. Some people didn’t wear rings these days—especially those who worked with their hands, as she did in the garden and kitchen.
“I noticed.” Not a direct answer to the question—but not a falsehood, either.
“I wish I had a friend next door, like I did at Nana’s.”
“I do too—but you’ll meet lots of boys and girls at the preschool I found for you.”
“Will they live by us?”
Doubtful, since the program he’d enrolled her in was forty-five minutes away.
Too bad Hope Harbor didn’t have anything like that for young children.
“I don’t know—but we’ll try to find some friends for you here in town too.”
“Where?”
“Maybe at, uh, church.”
She tilted her head. “Are we going to church?”
“Yeah.” He may not have been the most diligent churchgoer these past few years, but now that Molly was a permanent part of his life, he ought to get back in the habit. Children should have a solid grounding in faith—and his mom had taken her every Sunday, as Molly had told him early on.