more attractive now that she knew he was a single dad? All he needed now was a puppy in his arms and she’d be a goner.
But the thought of puppies reminded her of Tucker, which in turn reminded her that she was supposed to be making calls to pit masters to help the shelter, not standing around mooning over her secret crush and his bashful mini-me.
She stood and nudged the paper bags closer to him. “I hope you enjoy it.”
He took the hint this time and reached for the food. “We will. Thank you...” His usual unreadable expression gave way to one of befuddlement—charming Hugh Grant–style befuddlement, because of course. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Amanda.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Belle refilling the coffeepot just a few feet away, looking pleased as punch. “Amanda Sylvester.”
He nodded. “Have a good evening, Amanda Sylvester.”
And then he was gone, only instead of walking down Main Street with his signature brisk pace and ramrod-straight spine, he matched his steps with Dillon’s and rested one of his big hands on the little boy’s shoulder.
Amanda’s heart gave a tiny squeeze.
She ignored it as best she could and swiveled to face Belle. “You did that on purpose. You knew I was distracted, so you caught me off guard and had me come out here to deliver his dinner.”
Belle grinned from ear to ear. “Of course I did, but look on the bright side. At least now you know he’s not married.”
Amanda almost wished she wasn’t privy to that fascinating bit of information. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, remember?”
Or, God forbid, a husband. While Amanda struggled in the small-town dating world, her sister married the first boy who’d ever asked her out. Alexis and Paul had gotten engaged right out of high school and look what had happened. She’d had six kids in eight years and no longer had time to brush her teeth, much less run a business.
No, thank you.
Amanda loved her nieces and nephews, but every time she babysat for them, the night ended in some kind of disaster. Under her watch, Alexis and Paul’s living room walls had been “decorated” in permanent marker and their toilet had been plugged up with stuffed animals. How was it easier to walk six dogs than it was to supervise the same number of rambunctious children?
“His son is awfully cute, though. Don’t you think?” Belle arched an eyebrow.
Yes, she definitely thought so. He had such a quiet way about him. So serious, just like his dad. Something about the way he’d held on so tightly to his red dinosaur made her want to cook up some comfort food for him. Macaroni and cheese, topped with a thick layer of toasted bread crumbs, maybe—followed by a creamy coconut pie. Her nieces and nephews loved her coconut pie.
She glanced at Belle who was watching her as if she knew exactly what Amanda was thinking.
“Stop looking at me like that.” She rolled her eyes, but Belle’s grin widened, so she added, “You’re fired again, by the way.”
Belle winked. “I think the words you’re looking for are thank you.”
* * *
“Look at that.” Ryan pointed his fork at the empty plate sitting in front of Dillon. “You ate every bite.”
His son nodded and smiled a crooked smile that hit Ryan dead in the center of his chest.
He hadn’t been flirting when he’d told Amanda Sylvester that barbecue was Dillon’s favorite food. It was the truth. He’d simply been carrying on a normal conversation. It didn’t have to mean anything, and it definitely didn’t have to mean that he found her attractive or that the gentle way she’d spoken to Dillon had made him feel oddly emotional for some reason.
Except he did find her attractive, and the soothing tone of her voice as she’d talked to his son had done something to him—something strange and calming. For a split second, his worries had slipped away and he’d felt like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. Which meant flirting with her hadn’t been meaningless, although he didn’t want to think about that right now. He wanted to enjoy the unexpected lightness he’d felt as he’d left the Main Street Grille. Hell, he would have bottled that feeling if he could.
“Want some of mine?” Ryan slid his plate toward Dillon.
The boy shook his head. His face and hands were sticky with barbecue sauce, as was the red dinosaur toy, which was now standing on the table, poised to strike at Dillon’s half-full glass of milk.
Ryan’s in-laws would have been horrified. Annabelle and Finch Brewster would never have allowed Dillon to bring a toy to the table, and the head shake would have been deemed wholly unacceptable.
Say “no, thank you.” Where are your manners, Dillon?
Ryan could practically hear the voice of Maggie’s mother in his head. No matter how many times he’d told Annabelle and Finch about what the child psychologist had recommended about not trying to force Dillon to speak, they continued to press him about please and thank you, yes sir and no ma’am.
It irritated Ryan to no end. He was doing everything he could to protect his son’s fragile emotional state, and whenever they were around, they sabotaged him at every turn. Sometimes he felt like it was intentional, like they were trying to prevent him from fully bonding with Dillon.
Surely that wasn’t true. Annabelle and Finch were Dillon’s grandparents, and in their own dysfunctional way, they loved him. Ryan did his best to chalk their misplaced interference up to grief. Maggie had been their only child.
But they were also lifelong members of the country club set, so their world revolved around appearances and social niceties. They’d liked Ryan better when he was a political editor at one of the most esteemed newspapers in the country instead of a journalistic one-man show in the Deep South. And sadly, they’d liked their grandson better back then too. They acted as if his refusal to talk was a form of rebellion. Couldn’t they see he was grieving?
“How about a movie before you wash up and get ready for bed? Lion King?” It was one of the few things Dillon liked better than barbecue. He knew every line and every song of the movie by heart, and sometimes Ryan liked to put it on just so he could watch his son’s lips move, mouthing the words—times like tonight, when happiness seemed almost close enough to touch.
Ryan didn’t want to think about Amanda’s part in making him feel that way. He just wanted to enjoy the faint stirring of hope before it slipped away. But as Dillon climbed down from his chair and carried his dinosaur to the den, Ryan’s new phone rang, punctuating the hopeful silence with a grating reminder that nothing had changed. Not yet anyway. A newsman couldn’t ignore a call. The Spring Forest Chronicle was a far cry from the Post, but Ryan was the editor-in-chief. He had a responsibility to his job, just like he had back in DC.
He glanced down at his cell, where Annabelle and Finch’s contact information lit up the small screen. Of course.
His thumb hovered over the green Accept button, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer the call. The conversation would be the same as it always was—awkward small talk, followed
