She pinned the church bulletin to her corkboard and detoured into her office to check her voicemail for any last-minute cancellations.
The light was blinking, and the digital display indicated there was one message.
She pressed play.
“Jeannette—Logan West here. After we saw you on Friday, I explained to Molly that you ran a tearoom. I have no idea if what you do is appropriate for children her age, but if it is, I’d like to bring her next weekend, assuming a reservation is available. Either day is fine. You can call me on my cell.”
As he recited the number, Jeannette stared at the wall.
Logan West wanted to come to tea?
Another unsettling surprise on this Sunday.
She replayed the message and jotted down his number, then flipped open her reservation book.
There was one opening on Saturday, thanks to a cancellation.
Fate—or coincidence?
No matter.
Logan was simply another customer. He’d come to tea, eat her scones and savories and sweets, and disappear back behind the tall hedge after it was over.
Yet the mere thought of the handsome doctor sitting in her tearoom released a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.
How ridiculous was that?
Huffing out a breath, she left his number in the office and headed for the tearoom kitchen. She’d deal with his reservation later.
Like she’d deal with the item in the bulletin later.
The decision on the tea, however, was a no-brainer.
Of course she’d accept his reservation. Turning away a paying customer wasn’t smart business—even if having him on her turf made her uncomfortable for reasons she didn’t care to analyze.
The tutoring gig was less cut-and-dried.
She knew what she should do—but she wasn’t yet ready to commit.
Jeannette picked up her mug to take one last sip before plunging into the final preparations for today’s guests.
But the brew had gone tepid—unlike her life, which was heating up.
Too bad the reverse wasn’t true. A tepid life was preferable to tepid tea any day.
Trouble was, she had the strangest feeling that trying to control this situation was going to be a losing battle.
And for a woman who’d vowed not to get tangled up in other people’s lives, that was flat-out unnerving.
8
Molly was a mess.
As the preschool director brought her out by the hand to the reception area, the girl’s puffy red eyes, blotchy face, and quivering lower lip spelled misery in capital letters.
Logan’s stomach kinked.
What on earth had happened during her orientation day to cause a meltdown so severe the director had called him at noon on this Monday to come and pick her up?
Laura Wilson offered him an apologetic look as she approached. “I’m sorry we had to send out an SOS. That’s a rare occurrence.”
“No problem.” He knelt in front of Molly and brushed some wisps of hair back from her tearstained cheeks. “Hey. It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong.”
She hiccupped a sob and clutched his hand with her tiny, cold fingers. “I want to g-go home.”
“That’s where I’m taking you.”
“And I don’t want to c-come back here. I don’t like this p-place.” Another tear trailed down her cheek.
That didn’t make sense.
The school had first-rate credentials. On his tour the staff had appeared to be attentive, the children happy. The facility was well-equipped and spotless.
It had seemed ideal.
“Mr. West . . . perhaps we could talk for a moment over there?” The director indicated a small seating area in the corner. “Or we could schedule a phone call later in the day.”
Waiting to hear what had caused this disaster wasn’t an option.
He stood, resting one hand on Molly’s shuddering shoulder. “We can talk now. Do you have a few picture books Molly could page through while we chat?”
“We have a whole library. Give me two minutes.” She disappeared back through the secure door.
He dropped to one knee again. “What happened, sweetie? Was someone mean to you this morning?”
“No.”
“Did you fall down or get hurt?”
“No.”
“Did the other children play with you?”
“I didn’t want to play.”
“Why not?”
Her voice dropped so low he had to lean close to hear her answer. “I was s-scared.”
Logan frowned. “Why were you scared?”
“I was ’fraid m-maybe you wouldn’t c-come back.”
The kink in his stomach tightened. “I told you I would. And I always do what I say, don’t I?”
“Y-yes—but Nana said she’d take care of me too . . . and then she went a-away.” She clutched his hand again, her grip surprisingly strong, desperation radiating from her quivering frame. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to stay at your house. Please.”
The door clicked behind him, signaling the director’s return.
How to respond?
Hard as he tried to think of a reassuring reply, nothing came to mind.
The truth was, he had to work—and there were no preschools in Hope Harbor . . . or anywhere near the urgent care center . . . that would allow him to run over between patients and on his lunch hour until Molly was satisfied he was close at hand and could be there in minutes if she needed him.
“I’ll tell you what. Let me talk to Ms. Wilson, and we’ll work this out on the ride home.” He shifted toward the woman, and she handed him the picture books. He led Molly to a chair where she could see them but not hear their conversation. “I’ll be right over there.” He indicated the chairs. “In a few minutes we’ll go home and have lunch. Okay?”
She sniffled, gauged the distance between herself and the chairs, and nodded.
He followed the director over and took a seat facing Molly, while the woman claimed one angled toward him.
“Again, I apologize for interrupting your day. We tried everything in our repertoire to console Molly, but nothing worked. Rather than further traumatize her, I made the call to have you come and pick her up.”
“No apology necessary. But I don’t understand what happened. Molly was in preschool in San Francisco for three months prior to our move here, and while I saw a touch of separation anxiety at the beginning, it was nothing like this.”
Truth be told, it had been far easier than he’d expected. From the day he’d brought her back to the West Coast with him after his mother’s funeral, she’d been docile and quiet and self-contained.
Maybe too much so, in hindsight.
She’d always done everything he’d told her to, but none of his attempts to win her trust and affection had produced results. No matter what he tried, he hadn’t been able to bridge the distance between them.
Even getting a dog hadn’t been the instant magic elixir he’d hoped it would be—though that, at least, was beginning to show results.
“Children can be very upset by disruptions in their world—and the more disruptions there are, the bigger the impact. It becomes harder and harder for them to adjust. Many children become clingy when their world is shaken. Have you noticed that sort of behavior recently?”