Second Time's the Charm. Tara Quinn Taylor
like she had been.
He got nervous again. “Hey, you do understand I’m not hitting on you, right?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“But you are now.”
“Yes.” She nodded once, slowly.
“Good, because I’d like to offer my services. In exchange for what you’re doing here for me. And Abe.”
“Your services?”
The idea had occurred to him during the hour she’d spent giving him back some semblance of control where his son was concerned. “I’ve got some skills, too. I’d like to offer them to you.” Especially now that he knew she lived alone. “For instance, do you have a sliding glass door?”
“Yes, why?”
“Does it have a security lock on it?”
“It’s got the lock on the door handle. I’m sure it’s secure.”
He shook his head. “There was a theft in town last night.”
“I heard. And I’m sure the thief, if he’s still around, will be caught.”
What was it about the people in this town? Did they have no street smarts at all? They didn’t live behind a locked gate. Shelter Valley was accessible from the highway. All kinds of people took the highway.
“I’d like to install a secure lock on your sliding glass door. If you’re okay with that.”
“Sure. It never hurts to be safe. I’ll pay you for it, of course.”
“You’re missing the point,” Jon said. “This is a trade-off. You help me with Abe and I’ll help you.”
Being in debt gave people control over you.
She eyed the uneaten food in his container. “But...”
Abraham held up a French fry, looked from Jon to Lillie, grinned and nodded.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Lillie grinned at the toddler.
Abe’s nod encompassed the entire top half of his body. And then, still grinning, he chewed, French fry showing between his teeth. He picked up another and handed it to Lillie.
“You want me to have it?” she asked, when Jon would have just taken the fry.
Abraham, studying her with seriousness now as he held out his gift, nodded again.
She took the potato from his sticky fingers, said, “Thank you,” and popped it into her mouth.
Abe went back to the sections of burger Jon had cut for his son, picking one up and taking a huge bite out of it. He chewed, swallowed and kicked his feet. It occurred to Jon that he looked like a healthy, happy, well-adjusted kid.
One who was communicating.
“Do you want a pickle?” Lillie asked the boy, picking up the discarded vegetable from her take-out container.
“No!” Abraham said emphatically.
Smiling, Jon looked across the booth at their gorgeous companion. “I don’t buy that Bonnie Nielson pays you to spend hours on Saturday with the parents of her clients,” he said. “Being at the day care, to help them adjust, makes sense, but this?” Sitting back against the booth, he motioned at himself and Abe and the food in front of them.
Lillie’s gaze dropped before she once again looked him in the eye. “You’re right. I’m on my own time.”
“I don’t accept charity.”
“I understand.” She gathered her trash together and Jon thought she might be about to walk out on them.
“But if you’d allow me to return the favor—professional skills in exchange for professional skills...”
Her hands stilling, Lillie studied him and his son. “I have to be honest with you, Jon. I’m not sure why I’ve been so persistent where the two of you are concerned. It’s not my usual way.”
So he hadn’t been completely paranoid in thinking she’d singled him out. Just erroneous—okay, paranoid, maybe—in his conclusions that she was out to get him.
Maybe. Clara Abrams could afford to hire people who were highly skilled at acting.
“Tell me this,” he said, “are you here because you’re genuinely interested in helping me help my son?”
“Absolutely.”
She hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t looked away. “Then that’s enough for me,” he said. “Assuming you’ll allow me to reciprocate in kind. Service for—”
“I know, professional service for professional service,” she finished, a small smile on her beautiful face. “I agree to your terms.”
“Good.” He smiled. Her grin grew wider.
Something was going on here. He wasn’t sure what. And he was fairly certain he didn’t want to know.
“Good,” she said.
“Dada?” Abe’s voice sounded between them.
He’d forgotten that his son was still eating. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to watch Abe right next to him.
“Yes, son?” he said, wrapping an arm around Abe’s tiny, fragile shoulders as he surveyed the ketchup-smeared table. Abe had pushed what was left of his food-filled paper across to the other side of the table.
“Uh,” the boy grunted, bobbing up and down in his chair and pointing toward the door.
“He’s ready to go.” Jon gathered up the debris from their meal and retrieved a couple of packets from the back pocket of his jeans. The individually sealed antibacterial wipes he’d learned never to leave home without.
“Use your words, Abraham,” Lillie said softly from across the table as Jon tended to his son’s chubby little fingers and face first before starting on the table.
“Tell us what you want.” Lillie’s attention was intent on the boy. “Tell us you want to go,” she said.
With a small frown marring his brow, Abe’s big brown eyes studied the woman.
Jon wiped the table. He knew what Abraham wanted without needing to be told.
“Tell us you want to go,” she said again. “Go.”
“Gah,” Abe responded, bobbing up and down some more. “Gah.”
Jon grinned. A new word. Gah. It meant go.
“Gooo,” Lillie said, drawing out the long O sound. “Gooo.”
“Gah,” Abe repeated, grinning. “Gah.” The boy stood up on the bench and almost fell backward as his booster seat got in the way.
Jon reached out and steadied his son, feeling as though he’d just been given a new lease on life. He picked Abe up and set him on the ground.
“I was making it easy for him not to learn to talk,” Jon said to Lillie as they made their way through the restaurant. “He didn’t have to speak to get what he wanted.”
“That’s probably part of it. And he’s just turned two.”
“I do try to teach him words.” With Abe holding on to one hand, he held the door open for her.
“I don’t doubt that, Jon.” Lillie’s voice was soft. Tender. And, inside, he softened toward her.
“We’re working on potty training, too,” he added, still proving himself, just in case.
“Not too vigorously, I hope,” she said. “Boys generally train later than girls, closer to three than two. It takes that long for them to feel the sensation that they have to