Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,23
there might be less guilt. It would be a rational, rather than an emotional, choice. In fact, if she waited a day—or two—it was possible someone else would volunteer and she’d be off the hook.
Yes.
That was a sound plan.
Jeannette pushed back her chair and rose. Her tearoom guests would be arriving in two hours, and several chores remained on her prep list. That would keep her hands—and her mind—occupied for most of the day.
She pinned the church bulletin to her corkboard and detoured into her office to check her voicemail for any last-minute cancellations.
The light was blinking, and the digital display indicated there was one message.
She pressed play.
“Jeannette—Logan West here. After we saw you on Friday, I explained to Molly that you ran a tearoom. I have no idea if what you do is appropriate for children her age, but if it is, I’d like to bring her next weekend, assuming a reservation is available. Either day is fine. You can call me on my cell.”
As he recited the number, Jeannette stared at the wall.
Logan West wanted to come to tea?
Another unsettling surprise on this Sunday.
She replayed the message and jotted down his number, then flipped open her reservation book.
There was one opening on Saturday, thanks to a cancellation.
Fate—or coincidence?
No matter.
Logan was simply another customer. He’d come to tea, eat her scones and savories and sweets, and disappear back behind the tall hedge after it was over.
Yet the mere thought of the handsome doctor sitting in her tearoom released a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.
How ridiculous was that?
Huffing out a breath, she left his number in the office and headed for the tearoom kitchen. She’d deal with his reservation later.
Like she’d deal with the item in the bulletin later.
The decision on the tea, however, was a no-brainer.
Of course she’d accept his reservation. Turning away a paying customer wasn’t smart business—even if having him on her turf made her uncomfortable for reasons she didn’t care to analyze.
The tutoring gig was less cut-and-dried.
She knew what she should do—but she wasn’t yet ready to commit.
Jeannette picked up her mug to take one last sip before plunging into the final preparations for today’s guests.
But the brew had gone tepid—unlike her life, which was heating up.
Too bad the reverse wasn’t true. A tepid life was preferable to tepid tea any day.
Trouble was, she had the strangest feeling that trying to control this situation was going to be a losing battle.
And for a woman who’d vowed not to get tangled up in other people’s lives, that was flat-out unnerving.
8
Molly was a mess.
As the preschool director brought her out by the hand to the reception area, the girl’s puffy red eyes, blotchy face, and quivering lower lip spelled misery in capital letters.
Logan’s stomach kinked.
What on earth had happened during her orientation day to cause a meltdown so severe the director had called him at noon on this Monday to come and pick her up?
Laura Wilson offered him an apologetic look as she approached. “I’m sorry we had to send out an SOS. That’s a rare occurrence.”
“No problem.” He knelt in front of Molly and brushed some wisps of hair back from her tearstained cheeks. “Hey. It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong.”
She hiccupped a sob and clutched his hand with her tiny, cold fingers. “I want to g-go home.”
“That’s where I’m taking you.”
“And I don’t want to c-come back here. I don’t like this p-place.” Another tear trailed down her cheek.
That didn’t make sense.
The school had first-rate credentials. On his tour the staff had appeared to be attentive, the children happy. The facility was well-equipped and spotless.
It had seemed ideal.
“Mr. West . . . perhaps we could talk for a moment over there?” The director indicated a small seating area in the corner. “Or we could schedule a phone call later in the day.”
Waiting to hear what had caused this disaster wasn’t an option.
He stood, resting one hand on Molly’s shuddering shoulder. “We can talk now. Do you have a few picture books Molly could page through while we chat?”
“We have a whole library. Give me two minutes.” She disappeared back through the secure door.
He dropped to one knee again. “What happened, sweetie? Was someone mean to you this morning?”
“No.”
“Did you fall down or get hurt?”
“No.”
“Did the other children play with you?”
“I didn’t want to play.”
“Why not?”
Her voice dropped so low he had to lean close to hear her answer. “I was s-scared.”