So for the length of a breakfast, seeing his daughter glowing and happy was worth reneging on his vow to keep his distance from Devyn.
He kept mum for much of the walk, letting the two femaleschat, but once they were seated inside the Myrtle with menus in front of them, Isabel pulled him into the conversation.
“What’re you getting, Dad?”
“Guess.”
She grinned. “The breakfast skillet with potatoes, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and mushrooms.”
“Bingo.” He closed his menu. “I must be in a rut.”
“It sounds like a delicious rut, though.” Devyn continued to peruse the bill of fare. “But the blueberry pancakes are also calling to me. I wonder if I could get one on the side. Someone with excellent taste recommended them.” She winked at Isabel, eliciting a giggle.
“She could do that, couldn’t she, Dad?” His daughter turned to him.
“I’m sure they can accommodate any special requests.” He transferred his attention to their host. “But be warned. The skillet is more than generous. They don’t skimp on portions at the Myrtle.”
“I know. That’s why I’m a regular dinner customer. Or I was until Lauren began cooking more often.”
“You don’t like to cook?” He set his menu down.
“I don’t cook enough to be able to answer that question. Back in New York, my time is at a premium. Takeout is simpler if I want anything more than a salad or omelet or a basic stir-fry. Do you cook?”
“If I have to. But Gramp took over most of the cooking chores after ... when he came to live with us.” No sense casting a pall on the conversation by mentioning Olivia.
The server came to take their order, and Devyn chose the skillet with a pancake on the side.
He took a sip of coffee to hide the quirk of his lips.
This ought to be interesting.
Despite her claim that she ate heartier than most people expected of a ballerina, a Myrtle breakfast with a side order would be a ton of food.
As the server left, Isabel returned to the previous topic. “Gramp cooks real good. Better than Dad. Mom didn’t cook much because she was gone a lot.”
So much for his efforts to avoid mentioning Olivia.
“It must be handy to have a live-in chef.” Devyn smiled at her, sidestepping Isabel’s comment about her mother.
“Uh-huh. I liked Mom’s stew, but she traveled for her job and didn’t make it very often. She was in charge of finding new customers for the computer company she worked for. Right, Dad?”
“Yes.” He set his coffee down and expanded on the explanation. “Olivia was a business development manager for an IT firm.”
Devyn nodded, then directed her next comment to Isabel. “I imagine that was an interesting job.”
“I ’spose.” Isabel shrugged. “I know she liked it. But she died in a car accident.” Her lips drooped.
“I know. I’m so sorry, honey.” Devyn reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I miss her a lot.”
“Of course you do. It’s normal to miss people you love.”
“Do you still have your mom?”
The subtle shift in Devyn’s features was difficult to interpret. “Yes, but she lives in Paris, so I don’t see her often.”
Paris?
