said that yesterday or this morning and...I should have.”
He stared, nonplussed at the words. Did she think Jade’s death had left him heartbroken? He didn’t quite know how to disabuse her of that notion without sounding hard and calloused. He had certainly never wanted his wife dead and had grieved for what their marriage should have been, but that wasn’t something he could blurt out to someone he hadn’t seen in years.
“Thank you,” he finally answered. “It’s been hard on Peyton. They were very close.”
“I can imagine. It’s a tough age for a girl to lose her mother.”
Charlotte had lost her mother to cancer at about that age, he recalled. He could remember how helpless he had felt at sixteen to watch people he cared about suffer such a loss.
Even then, in the midst of Dermot’s own pain and grief—left a widower with seven children, two still at home—Dermot had been kind to Spence and Billie. He had shared several baskets full of leftovers from all the food people had brought to help the Caines after Margaret’s death.
Charlotte had survived something similar to what Pey had been going through this past year. He wondered if she might be willing to help him understand his daughter a little better, offer some perspective that could give him half a clue on how to deal with her.
“Listen, Pey and I seem to get on better with a buffer. I don’t suppose there’s a chance you’d like to sit with us?”
Her eyes widened at the invitation. She looked disconcerted but at least she didn’t appear horror-stricken. “I... Thank you, but I’m actually meeting somebody.”
He felt a twinge of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. Really? Over Charlotte Caine? Where did that come from? But for some crazy reason, he found he didn’t like the idea of her sharing those sweet, hesitant smiles with anybody else.
“Oh. Sure. No problem.”
“It’s my... Actually, here he is.”
He followed her gaze to the door and saw a rough-looking dude with shaggy longish brown hair and a menacing black eye patch. He could have used a shave a couple days ago and wore a grease-stained pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, odd for such a warm evening.
It took Spence only about another five seconds before he recognized her brother Dylan beneath that badass scowl, and he realized what he had taken for a glove on one hand was really a prosthetic arm.
Dylan’s scowl lifted and he headed over to his sister, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a stubborn thing? I told you I would pick you up. Just because I was ten minutes late, you didn’t have to hobble all the way over on your crutches.”
“Didn’t you get my text? I told you I’ve been sitting all day and needed to move. Anyway, all the way over is only a block and my car was closer to the café than the candy store. So you had a flat tire?”
Dylan took the seat across from her. “Yeah. Must have run over a nail or something or maybe a sharp rock up in the canyon. For all I know, I could have picked up a slow leak a week ago. Ever tried to work a lug wrench one-handed? It’s a hell of a lot harder than you might think.”
“And you call me stubborn.” She made a grumbling noise at her brother. “Why didn’t you call somebody to help? Any of the brothers would have come out in a second.”
“I managed.”
The love between them was obvious. It always had been. When he was a kid, he had been fiercely jealous of the Caines. He could remember seeing them all together sometimes here at the café, squabbling, teasing, laughing. Envy had sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.
Peyton finally returned to the table and picked up her napkin to wipe at her mouth then took a long drink of water.
“You okay?” he asked, suddenly realizing she had been gone awhile.
“I’m fine. I was, uh, just fixing my hair. It’s a mess after swimming. I hate how frizzy it gets.”
It didn’t look any
He stared, nonplussed at the words. Did she think Jade’s death had left him heartbroken? He didn’t quite know how to disabuse her of that notion without sounding hard and calloused. He had certainly never wanted his wife dead and had grieved for what their marriage should have been, but that wasn’t something he could blurt out to someone he hadn’t seen in years.
“Thank you,” he finally answered. “It’s been hard on Peyton. They were very close.”
“I can imagine. It’s a tough age for a girl to lose her mother.”
Charlotte had lost her mother to cancer at about that age, he recalled. He could remember how helpless he had felt at sixteen to watch people he cared about suffer such a loss.
Even then, in the midst of Dermot’s own pain and grief—left a widower with seven children, two still at home—Dermot had been kind to Spence and Billie. He had shared several baskets full of leftovers from all the food people had brought to help the Caines after Margaret’s death.
Charlotte had survived something similar to what Pey had been going through this past year. He wondered if she might be willing to help him understand his daughter a little better, offer some perspective that could give him half a clue on how to deal with her.
“Listen, Pey and I seem to get on better with a buffer. I don’t suppose there’s a chance you’d like to sit with us?”
Her eyes widened at the invitation. She looked disconcerted but at least she didn’t appear horror-stricken. “I... Thank you, but I’m actually meeting somebody.”
He felt a twinge of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. Really? Over Charlotte Caine? Where did that come from? But for some crazy reason, he found he didn’t like the idea of her sharing those sweet, hesitant smiles with anybody else.
“Oh. Sure. No problem.”
“It’s my... Actually, here he is.”
He followed her gaze to the door and saw a rough-looking dude with shaggy longish brown hair and a menacing black eye patch. He could have used a shave a couple days ago and wore a grease-stained pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, odd for such a warm evening.
It took Spence only about another five seconds before he recognized her brother Dylan beneath that badass scowl, and he realized what he had taken for a glove on one hand was really a prosthetic arm.
Dylan’s scowl lifted and he headed over to his sister, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a stubborn thing? I told you I would pick you up. Just because I was ten minutes late, you didn’t have to hobble all the way over on your crutches.”
“Didn’t you get my text? I told you I’ve been sitting all day and needed to move. Anyway, all the way over is only a block and my car was closer to the café than the candy store. So you had a flat tire?”
Dylan took the seat across from her. “Yeah. Must have run over a nail or something or maybe a sharp rock up in the canyon. For all I know, I could have picked up a slow leak a week ago. Ever tried to work a lug wrench one-handed? It’s a hell of a lot harder than you might think.”
“And you call me stubborn.” She made a grumbling noise at her brother. “Why didn’t you call somebody to help? Any of the brothers would have come out in a second.”
“I managed.”
The love between them was obvious. It always had been. When he was a kid, he had been fiercely jealous of the Caines. He could remember seeing them all together sometimes here at the café, squabbling, teasing, laughing. Envy had sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.
Peyton finally returned to the table and picked up her napkin to wipe at her mouth then took a long drink of water.
“You okay?” he asked, suddenly realizing she had been gone awhile.
“I’m fine. I was, uh, just fixing my hair. It’s a mess after swimming. I hate how frizzy it gets.”
It didn’t look any
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