Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,63

ago. I don’t know what else I can do to convince her I love her and want her beyond what I’m already doing.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

“Please.”

“Tell her how you feel about the loss of your mom and brother. She said you never talk about them, so she may be reluctant to bring up her own grief. If she knows you have sorrow in common, she may open up about that—and other subjects. Shared experiences can create strong bonds.”

“That makes sense.” He leaned back and crossed an ankle over a knee. “I thought Molly and I should establish a comfort level before we got into heavier issues, but maybe talking about those would help build that comfort level.”

“It might.”

“Any other insights or tips you can share?”

“No.” She checked her watch. “And it’s getting late. I better take the kitty home and get set up for some midnight feedings.” She stood.

He rose more slowly, trying to come up with a logical reason to delay her.

Unfortunately, nothing convincing came to mind.

“I’ll help you gather up the supplies.” He opened the door and followed her to the kitchen.

She stopped in the center of the room, eyeing the counter and the kitten. “This will require two trips.”

“I’d offer to help, but I don’t want to leave Molly alone.”

“No worries. It’s not a long walk.” She flashed him a smile as she picked up the box with the sleeping kitty. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I’ll put all the supplies in a bag for you while you’re gone.”

He held the door for her as she left, gathered up the formula, extra bottle, nipples, and the care instructions he’d printed off the net, and was waiting on the porch when she returned.

She took the bag he handed her. “Thanks for all you did tonight. I’m sure the care and feeding of an abandoned kitten wasn’t on your evening agenda.”

“Watching Molly wasn’t on yours for today either.”

“I enjoyed having her.” She descended the steps, angling back at the bottom to look up at him. “I’ll text you with updates on how he’s doing.”

In other words, she didn’t want them to come over to her place.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t try to push for an invite, though.

“Thanks—but I don’t know if that will satisfy Molly.”

She edged farther away, into the shadows beyond the pool of light from the porch. “I can bring him back for a visit in a week or two.”

“Or we could walk over. I’d call first, to see if it was convenient.”

“That would work.”

Not if she didn’t answer the phone—and he had a sneaking suspicion she’d let any calls from him roll to voicemail.

But pushing harder could backfire.

“Let me know if you need any help.”

“I will. Thanks again.” With that, she turned away and disappeared down the dark drive.

Logan pushed through the door, locked it, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he wandered down the hall to see if Molly had fallen asleep.

At the door to her room, he paused. Toby lifted his head from his prone position beside her bed but stayed where he was. Molly’s eyes were closed, her breathing even, and the slight snuffling sound suggested she was in a deep sleep.

Maybe she’d stay that way through the night.

He returned to the kitchen and straightened up the counter and table, weighing Jeannette’s advice about broaching the subject of loss and grief with Molly. His neighbor struck him as a sharp, insightful, intuitive, and caring woman who probably had keen insights about kids, based on her teaching experience.

Why not try her suggestion? It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose, given the poor results with his current approach.

He nuked the cup of coffee that had cooled during Jeannette’s visit and strolled out to the back porch. Propping a shoulder against the post, he sipped the java and scanned the vast, star-bedecked heavens. It was the same view he used to enjoy with his mom and brother and dad as they tried to spot the constellations in their backyard on a summer night while fireflies flitted around them.

The sky hadn’t changed—but everything else had.

And all at once, a soul-deep wave of loneliness crashed over him.

Those had been good days.

Happy days.

But now they were only a memory.

His mom was gone.

His brother was gone.

His father had died long ago.

All he had was a little girl who didn’t particularly like him and a dog he wasn’t that fond of—although the beagle was growing on him.

Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, he perused the