We can be in Oz then for all I care.”
It was so out of character for Flynn that she paused. Musing, she returned to the kitchen to prepare his French fries.
By the time she brought them to the table, Flynn had finished grilling the burgers. The girls ran from the swings, their short legs pumping with the effort.
Once they were seated, and their burgers assembled, Flynn and Cindy concentrated on their own plates.
He stared at his burger with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “Do you have something against regular food?”
“Regular food?” she repeated. “As in cholesterol-clogging, energy-draining junk food?”
He took a hefty portion of French fries. “Absolutely.” Tasting one, his expression changed. “Are these made some…uh…special way?”
“They’re made from potatoes and they’re fried,” she replied enigmatically.
“In what?”
“Olive and canola oil,” she admitted.
He sighed. “Does everything you cook have to be so…healthy?”
She took a moment’s pity on him. “We do have a fast-food joint in town. You can always get a fix there.”
He picked up another fry, his words hesitant. “You’ve been doing all the cooking and I don’t sound very grateful.”
Cindy felt the saddening, one that came from a place she could never quite conquer. “It’s not what you’re used to.” Smiling to hide the pain, she glanced down at the simple dinner. “None of it. Me, this house, the food you think suits birds and squirrels better than people. You probably feel as though you’ve landed on another planet.”
He glanced at the girls, but they were more interested in spearing pickles than the adult conversation. “It is different,” he finally admitted. “But I needed a change. And the girls wanted Aunt Cinny.”
Caution slid past logic. “They’d have forgotten me in time.”
He glanced up, catching her eyes.
“Yes,” she replied to the unspoken question there. “Like they’re forgetting much of the past year.”
In the quiet, the chirp of early-evening crickets mingled with the girls’ random giggles and murmurs.
“Are you already tired of us?” he questioned in a low tone that didn’t carry down the table.
She could say so much, so very much. Her gaze flew to the girls, cheerfully smearing Cindy’s homemade mayonnaise on the table. Correction, she couldn’t say anything at all. “No. It’s great having the girls here.” She paused. “And you, of course. The house is full of noise and smiles and laughter. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” She wouldn’t, Cindy realized, despite the heartache. It wasn’t simply an empty assurance for Flynn.
“Veggie burgers are probably good for us,” he offered finally.
Cindy’s laugh spilled between them. “Then you’ll love the carob-chip cookies.”
“I don’t suppose you have any genuine chocolate in the house.”
She tried to resist the pull of his eyes. “Well, I’m not a fanatic!”
“So you can be tempted?”
Oh, so tempted. She scrambled for a reasonable reply. “I eat the way I do because I like it, not to prove a point.”
“Do you ever eat out?”
“Of course. I’m willing to try most anything.”
His expression was reflective.
When he didn’t reply, she prodded him. “What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing really. Just that Julia never wanted to try anything new.”
Of course not. Steady, dependable Julia never made Flynn grimace in displeased surprise. “That must have been a comfort.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
His reply took away her words, her desire to keep the conversation flowing. She was so everything Julia wasn’t. So everything Flynn despised.
The following day Flynn examined the progress on the office space he had rented. The renovations weren’t coming along as quickly as he’d hoped. Although they were only weeks from completion, he wished it were mere days. He needed to get his office out of Cindy’s house.
Never having had to wrestle with a woman over the issue of control, he found himself uncertain how to deal with Cindy.
Julia had never questioned his opinions, in fact preferring to let him assume all the responsibility and worry of their decisions. It had become their custom for him to decide and for her to comply. It irritated him that Cindy had him wondering if that had always been for the best.
A knock sounded on the outer door. “Hello, anyone here?” a man called out.
“In here,” Flynn responded, rounding the corner.
A tall, dark-haired man approached, extending his hand. “I’m Michael Carlson.”
“Flynn Mallory,” he responded automatically.
“Katherine’s Carlson’s husband,” the man continued.
Flynn searched his memory.
But Michael began to grin. “I see that my wife and her friend didn’t tell you about this visit.”
Flynn shook his head.
“Katherine and Cindy are friends.”
“Oh, the pastor,” Flynn remembered.
Michael’s grin spread. “Yeah, that’s what I thought at first, too.”
“Sorry, I—”
“It’s okay. Most people aren’t used to women ministers. Actually, Cindy asked me if I could stop by, take a look at your renovations. She said your contractor’s behind on the job.”
“Oh.” Flynn issued the solitary word.
“I see she didn’t tell you. Listen, if you’d rather call someone else, fine by me.”
“I need to get this place operational as soon as possible. But you’ve probably got a lot of important jobs to be overseeing rather than looking at this dinky office.”
Michael shook his head. “I work on all kinds of jobs. I do a lot of remodeling as well as building stores, offices, the new headquarters for Adair Petroleum. And like I said, Cindy asked.”
“And that’s all it took?”
“Yeah,
