“Let’s say I don’t dislike them. As long as they’re good to my son, that’s all I need.”
Brogan tried to tiptoe around the topic. “So they’re involved, but Andy doesn’t have his father’s last name?”
Her brows arched. “How do you know that?”
“When he threw that clump of wet food at my head, you called him Andy Nolan.”
Her lips eased into a smile. “Right. Sorry again.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize for your kid being a kid. Besides, it was worth it to hear you laugh.”
“Thank you for being a good sport.” She sighed. “There are a lot of reasons why Andy doesn’t have his father’s last name. For one thing, I was never married to him—but Marlow was. She’s Marlow Easton, now that she and Cort are married, but everyone knew her differently when I first arrived. Plus, there were those initial problems with his grandparents. Legally, too, it was just easier to use my surname. He’s always been Andy Nolan to me, and that’s been enough.”
“I see your point. The grandparents are okay with that?”
“They have a recognizable name. It likely saves them the embarrassment of having to explain that their son wasn’t perfect after all.”
Even knowing he was pushing his luck, Brogan asked, “Recognizable in what way?”
Pixie gave him a pointed look. “Back to you. What other information did Connie leave you?”
This conversation got trickier by the second. He really wanted to know more about the grandparents, but he couldn’t risk offending her. “She identified Shayna’s father.” He couldn’t quite look at her when he said that. “She shared things about him. Details that … You see …” Damn it, he couldn’t do it. “Sorry, but it’s complicated.”
“And you’re struggling with the memory.” She abruptly stood, tossed the pillow on the couch, and faced him. “Here I am practically grilling you, when I can see that you’d rather not talk about it.”
Actually, it’d be better if he just got it said. The problem was that he liked her, more so every minute he spent with her. She deserved better than the disruption he planned to cause in her life. She and Andy had a nice pattern going. They were happy—what right did he have to intrude?
If it was just him, he wouldn’t hesitate to let it go. He’d leave them in peace, wish them well, and probably miss them like crazy.
This concerned Shayna, though, and that meant he couldn’t walk away. “I should explain.”
“No, it’s fine. Let’s save some conversation for another day, okay? That is, if you don’t mind doing this again.” She rushed to explain, “I mean chatting, letting the kids play, sharing experiences.”
He gave her the truth. “I’ve loved every minute.” It was by far the best evening he’d ever had.
Her smile was a beautiful thing. “Me too.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but then she shook her head. “It’s getting late, I still need to shower, and we’ll both have full days tomorrow.”
Maybe it made him a coward, but he was glad of the reprieve. “Let me carry out Shayna’s things; then I’ll come back in for her.”
“Good plan.” Her smile remained, accompanying the tenderness in her big blue eyes.
Now that he was off the hook, Brogan didn’t want to linger. He gathered up Shayna’s belongings, went out into the cool spring air, and stowed them in the front passenger seat. He started the car and turned on the headlights, then went back in to gather up his sleeping bundle and wrap her in a warm blanket. She stirred, stretched, but didn’t awaken, even when he put her in the car seat.
Pixie stood in the open doorway, watching him. The golden glow of the porch light created a halo around her fair hair.
Leaving proved difficult. They needed a better way to say good night, but again, most of the options familiar to him couldn’t happen. “I really did have a great time.”
“Me too.” She shifted, looked out at the night, then back at him. “Would you like to come to dinner next Saturday? I don’t yet know my schedule, but I could text you tomorrow.”
A tidal wave of relief washed over him. She wasn’t inviting him back for tomorrow, but he could bide his time while she figured out what worked for her. “I’d like that a lot.”
As if she’d thought he might refuse, her expression relaxed at his agreement. “Great. I’ll let you know.”
Having that promise made everything easier. “Lock your door behind you.”
“I always do.”
He nodded, appeased and yet reluctant for the magic to end. Then a firefly landed on his car door near the spot where he rested his hand on the top of the frame. It twinkled, then took flight again. He watched it move out to the yard and spotted dozens more, everywhere, on every shrub and tree. Pixie’s laughter drifted out to him.
