Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,38

she was enjoying herself. The bite-sized food was tasty—though he’d have to supplement it later with some serious protein. And watching their attractive hostess navigate among the tables, explaining the offerings on the three-tiered silver serving trays and the choices of tea, was enjoyable.

He could do without the scrutiny of the other patrons, however.

Every one of them was female, and from the minute he’d walked in the door holding Molly’s hand, they’d been aiming discreet—and not so discreet—glances his direction.

Despite Jeannette’s claim that a few men did venture here for tea, males must be a novelty at these types of genteel gatherings.

“What’s this?”

At Molly’s question, he studied the miniature pastry with a raspberry on top and tried to remember what Jeannette had told them about the items on the tray.

“It’s a double chocolate raspberry truffle tart.” She appeared beside them as if on cue. Leaning closer to the girl, she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you like chocolate, you’ll like that one. Promise.”

“Chocolate is my bestest favorite.” She reached for the tart.

“Everything okay here?” Jeannette straightened up and directed the question to him.

“Fine.”

“Sorry no other men showed up today.”

“I’m surviving.”

Someone on the other side of the room motioned to her, then toward their teapot.

“A call for more hot water. Let me know if you need anything. Also . . . I’d like to talk with you before you leave, if you can spare a few minutes.”

“Sure.” All he had to do tonight was call the woman Reverend Baker had found to watch Molly and finalize the arrangements. No sense putting it off any longer. At this stage, he wasn’t likely to come up with anything else suitable by Monday.

Meanwhile, why not try to enjoy the relaxing ambiance and soothing classical music in the tearoom until Molly grew bored?

An hour passed before she began to swing her legs and fidget—longer than he’d expected, but not long enough.

He could sit here all afternoon watching his neighbor flit about in her slim black skirt and figure-enhancing lavender blouse that wrapped across the front.

But since none of the other patrons seemed in a hurry to leave, he might have to catch up with her later to hear whatever she wanted to tell him.

At least it couldn’t be a complaint about Toby. There’d been no more breakouts by his escape-artist dog.

“Ready to go, sweetie?” He laid his linen napkin on the white tablecloth.

She shrugged, picked up another sugar cube with silver tongs, and set it on her plate beside the other three she’d transferred. “Can I take these?”

“Sure. We’ll ask for one of those boxes.” He motioned toward Jeannette, who was beginning to distribute small white cartons to her patrons, many of whom hadn’t consumed all of their bite-sized goodies.

He shook his head. Hard to believe every single tray wasn’t bare. He’d polished off his food—and some of Molly’s—in the first twenty minutes.

Jeannette stopped beside their table and inspected their empty serving tiers. “You two did very well.”

“Molly has a few sugar cubes she’d like to take home, though.” Logan motioned toward her plate.

“Of course.” Jeannette set a box on the table and winked at the little girl. “I put an extra shortbread cookie in there for you and your uncle too.”

“Thank you.” Molly smiled up at her.

“I may have to touch base with you later if you want to talk. We’re getting a tad restless.” He indicated his niece.

“No problem. Everyone’s usually gone by four. If you’ll give me your cell number, I can call you as soon as I get a minute. Unless . . . did you come up with any other arrangement for Monday other than the one you mentioned?” She inclined her head toward Molly.

“No. Do you have an idea?”

“Yes.”

He pulled out a pen and found an old gasoline receipt in the pocket of his sport jacket. On the back, he jotted his number and handed it to her. “I’m open to any and all suggestions. And feel free to drop by if you’d rather talk in person.”

“Thanks.” She took the slip of paper. “Are you ready for your bill?”

“Yes.” He pulled out his credit card and handed it to her.

“Give me one sec.”

She wove back through the tables, toward a doorway that must lead to the kitchen.

Logan gave the space one last sweep. The back wall of the tearoom was almost all glass, offering a view over the lavender fields that would be stunning when the flowers were in bloom. A dozen tables of various sizes