different to him, but what did he know? He was just her dad. Their conversation in the next booth must have attracted Dylan Caine’s attention. He stood again and approached their table.
“Gregory. I heard you were back in town.”
Spence rose and shook hands with him. What had happened to the man? And how the hell had they lost track over the years? His fault, he knew. When he left for Portland, he had basically closed the door on his life here.
Though they were the same age, Dylan had been a grade ahead in school because of what Spence considered his lost year. Dylan had been his catcher all through high school and he had always trusted and respected him.
He had joined the army the year before Spence signed with the Pioneers. Until the scouts started sniffing around his senior year, he had figured he would follow his friend’s example and do the same.
“How’ve you been?” Spence asked, though the answer seemed obvious. The man looked as if he’d been through hell. His clothes hung on his frame and his eyes were shadowed.
“Oh, you know. Can’t complain.” His light tone contrasted with his bleak expression.
Out of the corner of his gaze, he was aware of Peyton trying hard not to gape at Dylan’s prosthetic hand.
“It’s good to see you, man,” Spence said honestly. “I’d love to buy you a drink sometime and catch up.”
The offer seemed to throw Charlotte’s brother off guard. “I might take you up on the drink,” he answered, his eyes shuttered and dark, “but skipping down memory lane isn’t really my thing.”
Spence wondered what haunted the man. Suddenly his own demons seemed pretty damn mild in comparison.
“We can start with the drink then.”
Dylan nodded. Before he could answer, his father walked over carrying a tray. When he spied his son, Dermot’s steps faltered a little but he quickly straightened. “Two of my children here to eat my food. Am I forgetting my birthday or something?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Dylan is taking pity on his clumsy sister and offered to meet me for dinner.”
“And you both say I never get out,” Dylan said.
“Neither of you should be needing menus then. You can tell me what you want just as soon as I’ve taken care of Spencer and young Peyton here.”
Spence sat down again as Dermot set two plates on the table. “Two house burgers cooked to perfection, if I do say so myself.”
His stomach rumbled in anticipation. “Thanks, Dermot. I can’t tell you how I’ve missed your food.”
Dermot smiled with a kindness and welcome that overwhelmed Spence. “Then maybe you won’t wait more than a decade before coming back again.”
“I can promise, I won’t.”
The café owner gave him a smile and then turned to take the order of his son and daughter, leaving Spence alone with his own daughter, a delicious plate of food and years full of regret.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A S AWKWARD MEALS went, this one ranked somewhere very close to the top.
Between Dylan’s desultory conversation, Pop’s frequent stops to check on them, the throbbing from her ankle which should have been elevated about six hours ago and her overriding awareness of the neighboring booth’s occupants, she could hardly eat anything, even her favorite Cobb salad.
She wasn’t the only one who seemed without an appetite. Dylan picked at his own salad and only took a few bites of his chicken sandwich.
“You’re not eating,” she pointed out.
“You’re one to talk.”
“I had a big lunch.”
“Liar.”
She had packed a turkey sandwich for lunch and some fruit and had eaten on the little picnic table behind the store, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
She sensed Dylan had something on his mind but it seemed every time she tried to encourage him to talk, he backed away. While her impulse was to push and prod, she forced herself to employ one of Pop’s better strategies and let her brother work his way around to what he needed.
“So I could use a favor,” Dylan
“Gregory. I heard you were back in town.”
Spence rose and shook hands with him. What had happened to the man? And how the hell had they lost track over the years? His fault, he knew. When he left for Portland, he had basically closed the door on his life here.
Though they were the same age, Dylan had been a grade ahead in school because of what Spence considered his lost year. Dylan had been his catcher all through high school and he had always trusted and respected him.
He had joined the army the year before Spence signed with the Pioneers. Until the scouts started sniffing around his senior year, he had figured he would follow his friend’s example and do the same.
“How’ve you been?” Spence asked, though the answer seemed obvious. The man looked as if he’d been through hell. His clothes hung on his frame and his eyes were shadowed.
“Oh, you know. Can’t complain.” His light tone contrasted with his bleak expression.
Out of the corner of his gaze, he was aware of Peyton trying hard not to gape at Dylan’s prosthetic hand.
“It’s good to see you, man,” Spence said honestly. “I’d love to buy you a drink sometime and catch up.”
The offer seemed to throw Charlotte’s brother off guard. “I might take you up on the drink,” he answered, his eyes shuttered and dark, “but skipping down memory lane isn’t really my thing.”
Spence wondered what haunted the man. Suddenly his own demons seemed pretty damn mild in comparison.
“We can start with the drink then.”
Dylan nodded. Before he could answer, his father walked over carrying a tray. When he spied his son, Dermot’s steps faltered a little but he quickly straightened. “Two of my children here to eat my food. Am I forgetting my birthday or something?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Dylan is taking pity on his clumsy sister and offered to meet me for dinner.”
“And you both say I never get out,” Dylan said.
“Neither of you should be needing menus then. You can tell me what you want just as soon as I’ve taken care of Spencer and young Peyton here.”
Spence sat down again as Dermot set two plates on the table. “Two house burgers cooked to perfection, if I do say so myself.”
His stomach rumbled in anticipation. “Thanks, Dermot. I can’t tell you how I’ve missed your food.”
Dermot smiled with a kindness and welcome that overwhelmed Spence. “Then maybe you won’t wait more than a decade before coming back again.”
“I can promise, I won’t.”
The café owner gave him a smile and then turned to take the order of his son and daughter, leaving Spence alone with his own daughter, a delicious plate of food and years full of regret.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A S AWKWARD MEALS went, this one ranked somewhere very close to the top.
Between Dylan’s desultory conversation, Pop’s frequent stops to check on them, the throbbing from her ankle which should have been elevated about six hours ago and her overriding awareness of the neighboring booth’s occupants, she could hardly eat anything, even her favorite Cobb salad.
She wasn’t the only one who seemed without an appetite. Dylan picked at his own salad and only took a few bites of his chicken sandwich.
“You’re not eating,” she pointed out.
“You’re one to talk.”
“I had a big lunch.”
“Liar.”
She had packed a turkey sandwich for lunch and some fruit and had eaten on the little picnic table behind the store, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
She sensed Dylan had something on his mind but it seemed every time she tried to encourage him to talk, he backed away. While her impulse was to push and prod, she forced herself to employ one of Pop’s better strategies and let her brother work his way around to what he needed.
“So I could use a favor,” Dylan
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