“Are you hungry, sweetie?” He tossed the question over his shoulder, watching Molly in the rearview mirror.
She sniffed and peered through her window toward the wharf. “Yes.”
He slowed as he approached the end of the street and identified the source of the appetizing aroma—the white truck he’d noticed on previous trips to town, the word Charley’s emblazoned in colorful letters above the serving window.
On his past drive-bys, the window had been shuttered.
Today it was open.
And whatever Charley was cooking, he wanted some of it.
“Let’s stop and see what that smell is.” He eased back further on the gas pedal and scanned the wharf for a parking spot.
There wasn’t a space to be had in front of the row of shops facing the marina—but as he circled around at the end of the street, a car pulled out of one of the few angled parking spots by the tiny park with the white gazebo.
“This must be our lucky day.” He swung in, and two minutes later he had Molly free of her restraints.
Taking her hand, he led her to the line in front of the truck.
She rose on tiptoe, trying to see the serving counter, but he had the height advantage—and a clear line of sight to a ponytailed man who appeared to be Mexican working behind the counter.
Logan sniffed again.
The aroma wasn’t a perfect match for Mexican food—but some of the same spices were being used.
Uh-oh.
Given how picky Molly was, spicy Mexican fare wasn’t likely to appeal to her taste buds.
Maybe the guy would have some plain chicken for her.
“I bet this will be good.” He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.
“It is good.” The woman in front of him smiled down at Molly. “If you’ve never been to Charley’s, you’re in for a treat. He makes the best fish tacos on the West Coast.”
Logan smothered a groan.
No way would Molly touch a taco, let alone one with fish in it.
He’d have to fix her a sandwich once they got back to the house.
As the woman resumed her conversation with her companion, Molly wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like fish.”
“I know. I’ll give you lunch at home.” But he wasn’t leaving here without some tacos for himself.
And if the guy made other versions besides fish, some plain chicken could still be an option.
While they waited their turn, Molly amused herself by watching the antics of two seagulls who were strutting around like they owned the place.
Despite the line and the relaxed conversation the cook had with every single patron, in less than ten minutes they were at the window.
Since there wasn’t a menu posted on the side of the truck, he surveyed the wall behind the man.
No bill of fare there either. Instead, the space was covered with layers of pictures—all drawn by children, based on the crayoned stick figures that peopled them.
The man with the gray ponytail gave them a megawatt smile. “Good day, folks. Welcome to Charley’s. You two must be hungry for tacos.”
“I am.” Logan nodded to Molly. “Some of us aren’t partial to fish. Do you have a chicken version?”
“Can’t say I do, because I don’t. My specialty is fish tacos—a different version every day.” The man rested his forearms on the counter and leaned down, giving Molly his full attention. “Hello, little lady.”
“Hello.” She studied him. “I have a ponytail too.”
“I see that—and with a pretty ribbon. Purple’s one of my favorite colors.”
“Mine too.”
“I knew you were partial to purple the minute I saw you.” He winked. “Logan here says you don’t like fish. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you’ll like mine. It’s different than any you’ve ever eaten. People say I have a magic touch.” He flexed the fingers of his empty hand, reached behind his ear, and withdrew a shiny penny. After inspecting it, he passed it to her. “Can’t imagine where that came from—but I think it’s a lucky coin meant for you. Would you like to try a bite of my fish?”
She looked from him to the penny . . . and back again. “I-I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you don’t like it, you can spit it out on the sidewalk and Floyd or Gladys will eat it.” He motioned to the seagulls who were hovering nearby. “Right, you two?”
Both gulls squawked. Like they were answering him.
Logan stifled a grin.
As if.
Without waiting for a response, Charley moved to the grill, sprinkled some seasoning from a large unmarked container on the sizzling fish, and handed a small piece down to Molly on a napkin. “Tell me what you think of that.”
She gave the offering a dubious scrutiny but finally picked off a section and nibbled at it.
Her eyes widened. “This is real good.” She finished off the rest in a single bite. “Like those flower cookies the lady next door made.”
“Two orders of tacos, coming right up.” Charley set more fish on the grill and tossed some onions and red peppers on the sizzling griddle. “You wouldn’t be talking about that tasty lavender shortbread Jeannette bakes, would you?”
Logan frowned. “How do you know she’s our neighbor?”
For that matter, how had this stranger known his name?
Charley chuckled. “There’s only one lady in town I know of who bakes cookies with flowers.”
Oh.
There was that.
As for knowing his name—it was possible he’d heard the new doctor in town had bought the place next to the lavender farm or read the brief article in the local paper.
“Nice woman.” Charley went back to stirring the veggies, flipping the fish, and laying some corn tortillas on the grill. “I had a pleasant chat with her this morning as she was leaving the early service at Grace Christian.”
So the taco chef knew his neighbor.
Would the man be willing to share a few tidbits about her?
“Seems to be. We’ve talked twice.” He kept his tone conversational. “Does she run the farm alone?”
“Yes. Moved here about three years ago, cleared an acre of the property, built the beds, and planted every one of those lavender starts by herself. She puts a ton of TLC into that place.”
No wonder she’d been upset by Toby’s destructive digging.
“That’s a big job for one person to take on. She must not have much downtime.”
“Could be that’s how she likes it.”
Logan squinted at him.
Why would a person want to be that busy . . . unless they had no other interests—or people—in their life?
Is that what Charley was implying?
Could he drill deeper without sounding nosy?
“She must not have many personal obligations.” If there was a more discreet way to ask about the woman’s relationships, it eluded him.
“If you mean family-type responsibilities, I believe that’s true.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“I expect it is.” Charley finished assembling the tacos, added some more of whatever seasoning was in that container, and wrapped them in white paper. “But sometimes people need a nudge to realize what they’re missing. Here you go.” He slipped the order in a brown bag and slid it across the counter.