“Round like a ball. I have a ball at home that’s red. Red is my favorite color.”
Megan grinned at him. “How’d you like to face that energy every morning?”
“You’re actually a lucky woman, Megs.”
“I know I am.” She nodded. “But I don’t mind sharing her energy with you for a few days.”
He opened the door to Coastal Coffee and Brooklyn skipped inside. He and Megan followed her in. Then he froze, feeling the air sucked out of him. There, sitting right in the front by a big picture window, was Amanda. The light streamed in, casting a warm glow on her shoulder-length brown hair. Her skin had abit of tan now, not the pale color like when she’d first arrived on the island.
And why was he noticing all this now, anyway?
“Look, Momma. Miss Amanda is here.” She raced over to Amanda’s table. “Miss Amanda, hi, remember me? Brooklyn. I’m staying next door with Uncle Connor.”
Amanda’s brown eyes locked with his. Brown eyes tinged with specks of honey? How had he not noticed before this? Her cheeks flushed as she turned her gaze from him.
Amanda widened her eyes in shock. As far as she knew, Connor never came to Coastal Coffee. She pulled her attention from Connor to Brooklyn. “Hey, there. Of course, I remember you. So you guys came for breakfast, too, huh?”
Connor and Megan came over to her table. “Morning, Amanda,” Megan greeted her with a warm smile. “I see you had the same idea as we did. Breakfast out.”
She put down her notebook where she’d been scribbling notes since Tori left.
“It was wonderful. I’d suggest the blueberry muffins. Or the pecan waffles are always good.”
“I want waffles without pecans,” Brooklyn insisted.
Connor remained silent. Fine. She didn’t care.
“Hope we’re not interrupting your work.” Megan nodded toward the notebook.
“Just making some notes about the festival. We’re running a bit short of funding and Beverly—she’s the owner of the cafe—offered to set up a small fundraising area here. We’re looking for donations.”
Megan touched Connor’s arm. “Hey, you should donate one of your wood carvings.”
He shot her a glare. “No, I don’t think so.”
“But—”
He cut her off with a brusque shake of his head.
Of course he wouldn’t donate to help raise funds. He wanted nothing to do with her or the festival, or the town for that matter.
“I wanna go to a festival.” Brooklyn danced from foot to foot. “Momma, can we?”
“When is it?” Megan asked.
“In a few weeks.”
“We could probably come back for it.” She turned to Connor. “If that’s okay with you.”
“I wasn’t planning on going.”
“Please, Uncle Connor. Please. Can we go? Please.” Brooklyn looked up at her uncle with pleading eyes.
She saw the exact moment he crumbled against her relentless pleas. With a sigh, he ruffled Brooklyn’s hair. “Of course we can, Princess.” But when he looked over Brooklyn at his sister, his expression showed a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Megan ignored his look and turned to her. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? I’m going to make spaghetti.”
“You are?” Connor’s eyes lit up with surprise, but she wasn’t sure if it was because his sister was cooking spaghetti or the fact that she’d asked her over for dinner.
