“Wanna swing with Daddy,” Beth stated more assertively.
“Me, too,” Mandy spoke up.
Flynn walked toward them, stretching his hands out toward the girls.
Beth and Mandy readily placed their small hands within his. Seeing the unsettled look that remained on Cindy’s face, Flynn relented. “Veggie burgers, huh? I don’t suppose we could have French fries with those?”
Unexpectedly her lips twitched. “To cancel out the healthy effect of the meal’s veggie portion?”
“Something like that,” he agreed. “I’m more a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.”
Her smile widened. “Is that why you pick all the sprouts out of the salad?”
He winced. “I thought I was a touch more subtle.”
“Not especially.”
Surprise melted away the last of his reserve. “No kind demur?”
“No. That would have been someone else. Not me.”
Julia, he knew. Cindy wouldn’t say it in front of the girls, but it was true. Julia had always smoothed over any potential bump that could have put a ripple in any conversation. It had been the tone of their entire relationship.
Flynn walked outside with his daughters, losing himself for the moment beneath the cover of towering oaks and ivy-covered lattice work. The yard smelled of honeysuckle vines that poked fragrant blooms through the cracks of the weathered fence.
The swing set that sat on the longish grass was old, not new and shiny. But it was so sturdy, it could hold eight children; now it only needed to support his two small daughters.
Glancing back toward the house, Flynn wondered what it was about his sister-in-law that commanded such affection from his children. Alice had always clung the closest to him, never wanting to be separated. Beth might toddle off on her own, Mandy sometimes only a few feet behind. But not Alice. She was Daddy’s girl.
Only, now she seemed to be Cindy’s girl.
Inside, Cindy allowed Alice to pat and roll the burgers into shape. They were beginning to resemble small boulders.
“A Flintstones supper, Alice? Good job.” After washing the child’s hands, Cindy led her to the ancient French doors that opened to the backyard. “Why don’t you go swing for a while with Beth and Mandy?”
Happy to be with both Cindy and her father, Alice scampered contentedly away. Watching her, Cindy couldn’t help but wonder if all memories of Julia were fading from their young minds. For a moment she felt a stab of longing for her deceased sister, one more poignant than she’d felt since her untimely death. Even now, Cindy railed against the unfairness.
Colon cancer had struck silently, without warning. And Julia, in typical fashion, had persisted in acting as though nothing could go wrong with her perfect life, her perfect family. Ignoring the final, irreversible symptoms, she had died within six weeks of the diagnosis.
Julia’s little family was adrift. In Cindy’s backyard. Peering out the large windows, she saw how gentle Flynn was with his daughters. It was a side he showed only with them. Cindy couldn’t even remember seeing him treat Julia with the same tenderness. His manner toward Julia had always been filled with deep respect and devotion, but not tenderness. It was as though he’d placed Julia on a pedestal—one her sister had relished. Suddenly she wondered why.
The girls’ giggles floated through the open French doors. The low murmur of Flynn’s voice accompanied the happy sound. Even though she couldn’t understand the walls he constructed or the reasons for them, Cindy could see the joy he brought out in the girls. Although reluctant to cease her uncensored view, she gathered the charcoal lighter and matches.
Once outside, Flynn spotted her as she approached the grill. “I’ll start the fire,” he offered.
“Great. My least favorite part of eating outside.” She handed him the supplies, checking quickly to see that the girls were still safe.
Within a few minutes Flynn had a good fire going. Cindy rounded up condiments and place settings. However, when she brought out the plate containing the misshapen burgers, he raised his brows.
“Pretend we’re in Bedrock,” she told him breezily.
“I’m still getting fries, right?”
She nodded.
“Fine. We can be in Oz then for all I care.”
It was so out of character for Flynn that she paused. Musing, she returned to the kitchen to prepare his French fries.
By the time she brought them to the table, Flynn had finished grilling the burgers. The girls ran from the swings, their short legs pumping with the effort.
Once they were seated, and their burgers assembled, Flynn and Cindy concentrated on their own plates.
He stared at his burger with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “Do you have something against regular food?”
“Regular food?” she repeated. “As in cholesterol-clogging, energy-draining junk food?”
He took a hefty portion of French fries. “Absolutely.” Tasting one, his expression changed. “Are these made some…uh…special way?”
“They’re made from potatoes and they’re fried,” she replied enigmatically.
“In what?”
“Olive and canola oil,” she admitted.
He sighed. “Does everything you cook have to be so…healthy?”
She took a moment’s pity on him. “We do have a fast-food joint in town. You can always get a fix there.”
He picked up another fry, his words hesitant. “You’ve been doing all the cooking and I don’t sound very grateful.”
Cindy felt the saddening, one that came from a place she could never quite conquer. “It’s not what you’re used to.” Smiling to hide the pain, she glanced down at the simple dinner. “None of it. Me, this house, the food you think suits birds and squirrels better than people. You probably feel as though you’ve landed on another planet.”
He glanced at the girls, but they were more interested in spearing pickles than the adult conversation. “It is different,” he finally admitted. “But I needed a change. And the girls wanted Aunt Cinny.”
Caution slid past logic. “They’d have forgotten me in time.”
He glanced up, catching her eyes.
“Yes,” she replied to the unspoken question there. “Like they’re forgetting much of the past year.”
In the quiet, the chirp of early-evening crickets mingled with the girls’ random giggles and murmurs.
“Are you already tired of us?” he questioned in a low tone that didn’t carry down the table.
She could say so much, so very much. Her gaze flew to the girls, cheerfully smearing Cindy’s homemade mayonnaise on the table. Correction, she couldn’t say anything at all. “No. It’s great having the girls here.” She paused. “And you, of course. The house is full of noise and smiles and laughter. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” She wouldn’t, Cindy realized, despite the heartache. It wasn’t simply an empty assurance for Flynn.
“Veggie burgers are probably good for us,” he offered finally.
Cindy’s laugh spilled between them. “Then you’ll love the carob-chip cookies.”
“I don’t suppose you have any genuine chocolate in the house.”
She tried to resist the pull of his eyes. “Well, I’m not a fanatic!”