A couple sat at one of the concrete picnic tables. The white-haired man was shaking his floppy hat-covered head and saying something to the hoodie-pulled-tight-around-her-face, dark sunglass-wearing woman, who when she spotted that Isabelle was looking her way, dropped her binoculars, picked up a book, said something to the man, then pointed up into a nearby tree as if its branches weren’t bare.
That was no bird watcher.
Poor John. Maybelle had dragged the man who’d crushed on her from afar since their teens into a Butterfly spying expedition. Maybelle feigned fascination with something in a large oak, said something to John, and the older man glanced toward where Isabelle and Zach could be seen through the trees and nodded. Maybelle must have asked if Isabelle was still looking their way.
Isabelle couldn’t resist waving. The older couple were too far away to be sure John’s face had just gone bright pink, but his hand had definitely slapped against his forehead, knocking off his hat.
“Interesting friends you have,” Zach said from where he sat near her. Too near, but since the blanket was only so big, she couldn’t really tell him to scoot over, or he’d be in the grass.
“They’re good cooks, though.” She gestured toward their mini feast. “You may have recognized that some of this was leftovers from Jeannie’s party. Without the Butterflies, Sophie wouldn’t have pulled off something so elaborate on such short notice.”
“Then I love me some Butterflies.”
“Me, too. Each one of them has played an intricate role in my life. Our resident bird watcher was my Sunday school teacher several years running. No doubt the Butterflies relished getting involved with our Christmas picnic.” Isabelle eyed the man licking meat sauce off his fingers. Even in Isabelle’s tight, wondering-what-was-she-doing-on-a-picnic-with-Zach state, she hadn’t been oblivious to how good the food was and how thoughtful her family and friends had been in their unwanted matchmaking. As far as why she was there with Zach… the only reason she was with him… Her stomach contents threatened to rebel.
“Do you really think you can find my father for Sophie’s wedding?” Why did she feel as if she were nine years old and standing with her heart in her hand? Cliff Davis had no power over her. She was only doing this for Sophie.
“If he can be found.”
She eyed where Zach had lain back, propped his head on the Christmas pillow, and looked out toward the river. There didn’t appear to be a tense muscle in his stretched-out body.
“You’re that sure of yourself?”
“I’ve found people a lot slipperier than a runaway father.”
A runaway father. That was what Cliff was, but hearing Zach say it out loud stung.
“I can’t pay what Bodie says iSecure charges,” she admitted, then embarrassment hit. “I mean, I could, but not easily, not with Sophie’s wedding, and still making payments on the shop’s mortgage, and—”
“You don’t have to pay me,” he interrupted, not seeming concerned.
With as calmly as he was lying back on the pillow, she was beginning to wonder if he was planning a nap. Did he remember that she was only on a lunch break?
“I don’t want your charity,” she insisted, glad that he hadn’t closed his eyes, but had looked her way with his thickly fringed hazel eyes.
“But you can’t afford the company I work for?” His expression became thoughtful. “How about we make a trade?”
“A trade?” she asked suspiciously.
He flexed his arms, placing his hands behind his head, the muscles beneath his T-shirt crunching into the perfect abdominal snowman pose. “I’ll find your father and in exchange, you teach me to quilt.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? I can’t teach you to quilt.”
“Sure, you can. Sophie said you fill in teaching her class.”
“That’s different,” she insisted.
His brow lifted. “How?”
Because those students weren’t good-looking soldiers who threw me so off-kilter that I’d likely stitch my fingers together.Nope. Couldn’t tell him that. He’d tease her mercilessly if he knew she thought he was attractive.
“Why do you want to learn to quilt?” She changed tactics.
“From the first time Bodie told me about the Quilts of Valor Foundation, my interest was piqued. I’ve been helping Sarah with her current quilt and want to learn more, but I feel guilty taking up any of her free time.” He rolled his upper half into an upright position, picked up his Christmas mug, took a sip, then pinned her with his gaze. “Teach me to quilt, and in exchange, I’ll find your father.”
What he said about not taking up Sarah’s limited time made sense and once again painted him in a considerate light. Ugh. Fine. She’d sign him up for Sophie’s class to teach him the basics and she’d feel in the gaps. That way she wouldn’t have to spend that much time with him.
“If I do this, you’d better find him.”
