Liz Talley - Sweet Talking Man

“So I’ll see you at the next meeting?” Leif said.

Abigail had been staring at him, her eyes revealing...desire. She quickly looked away.

At that moment he wanted to gather her close to him, push back that intriguing dark hair with the silver streak, cup her face and break through her wall. Whether either of them admitted it, the music had started. There were only two ways to go—leave the dance floor or hold on tight.

Abigail raised her chin—the gesture seemed stubborn to him—and looked at him with eyes the color of emerald gulf waters. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Yes, you will.”

The sound of the door opening and a “Yoo-hoo” made them all turn. In the doorway was a man Leif had never seen before.

“This the Intro to Drawing class?” he asked, his gaze landing on Birdie and Abigail. He laughed. “Well, well. There’re my girls.”

Birdie jumped from her chair, sending it screeching back. “Daddy!”

Abigail stiffened, a panicked look on her face. “Hello, baby doll,” the man said, catching Birdie in midair as she launched herself at him. “A little birdie told me my little Birdie was taking art lessons.”

“Cal?” Abigail said, her voice incredulous. She appeared to vibrate beside him. As if a unicorn had stepped through the door. Or, on second thought, a dragon.

“Hey, babe.” The man looked uncertain but determined.

“What are you doing here?” She moved away from Leif, stumbling over the chair Birdie had abandoned.

The man with the broad face and silver-flecked dark hair offered a smile. “Well, no good reason to keep it from you—I’m moving back to Magnolia Bend. To stay.”

“What?” Abigail clapped a hand to her chest before dropping it to her side.

“Yay!” Birdie shouted, sliding out of her father’s embrace. “You’re going to live here again?”

“You’re... Wait, what about Morgan? And LA? You haven’t been back since—”

“Don’t worry, we’ll work it out. I’m home now and ready to be the man I need to be. For Birdie.” He chucked the child under the chin. “And for you, too.”

Abigail blinked, looked at the scuffed tile floor and then at Leif, her eyes jumbled with emotion. “But why are you here?”

“I told you—”

“No. Here.” She jabbed a finger toward the floor. “Why would you come here? We’re taking a class. Couldn’t you have waited?”

Cal’s smile reminded Leif of an alligator. “Well, honey, when you wake up from a trance and see who you’ve been for the past few years isn’t who you really are, you want to get back to where you belong as fast as you can.”

Abigail shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

Cal’s smile flickered. “No, I was crazy. Now I’m sane. I’m ready to make things up to you and Birdie. When I crossed that city limit sign, I felt like my life started again. Mama told me where y’all were so I came. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.”

“Well, you should have. This is just like you. You don’t think. You should have called me. You should have—”

“Mom,” Birdie cried, shaking her head. “Don’t turn this into something bad.”

In Birdie’s eyes was a soft plea, a child’s yearning for her father. Leif could feel Abigail soften. So could Cal. “We’ll talk about this later. This is obviously not the time or place.” She shot Cal another look.

The man ignored it, directing his attention to Leif instead. “Sorry for interrupting your class. The older lady said y’all were finished and my girls were still inside. Didn’t mean to impose.”

Leif nodded because he had no other choice. This was Abigail’s business. Not his. And even though an emotion he barely recognized as jealousy welled inside him, he knew this was the universe’s way of reminding him that Abigail Orgeron was not his...no matter how much he wanted to rip her from her world of schedules, logic and reason to a place where only sensation reigned. “It’s fine.”

“Good,” Cal said, wrapping an arm around Birdie. “Don’t be mad, Abigail. I couldn’t wait to see Birdie.”

“Really? Wish you had felt the same way at Christmas.”

Cal’s eyes shadowed. “Don’t, okay?”

Abigail snatched the two art pads and pencil cases sitting on the table, muttering “surreal” and “bastard” if Leif heard correctly. “Thank you, Mr. Lively, for the interesting class. I’m sorry about this last bit with Cal. Sometimes life hands you—”

“It’s not lemons, Mom,” Birdie called, impatience mixing with disappointment in her voice. She looked at her father and beamed. “It’s lemonade.”

Her father tweaked her nose and Leif almost vomited in his mouth. He couldn’t picture Abigail with this slimeball with the saccharine smile and slick ways. He wondered what had happened between them. Wondered if Cal had left her and now regretted his choice. Leif understood regret. But he didn’t understand a man abandoning his wife and child. He knew what it was like walking life’s path without a father. Not easy.

But there was no sense jumping to conclusions.

Abigail rolled her eyes before passing him a sheet of paper. “Here’s Birdie’s assignment.”

“Thanks.” He took the sheet and placed it over Abigail’s drawing of an apple...or a blob. Either descriptor worked.

Abigail walked toward her ex-husband and daughter. “Let’s take this conversation elsewhere.”

“Can I ride with Dad?” Birdie asked.

“Sure,” Abigail said, following them out the door. Just as her nice derriere disappeared, she stuck her head inside, the dark curtain of her hair swishing. “Hey, at least I don’t have to shower.”

“What?”

“My blast from the past didn’t bring cake.”

Leif laughed. “There’s that.”

“Yeah. See you Thursday?”

“Thursday.”

And then she was gone, leaving nothing but eraser crumbs on the table in front of him.

CHAPTER FIVE

ABIGAIL PEEKED IN at Birdie curled beneath her quilt. The girl slept on her back, mouth slightly open, out like Lottie’s eye. Abigail had no idea who Lottie was, but her mother had used that expression all her life and it had stuck.

“She down?” Cal said from over her shoulder. The family quarters were on the third floor of Laurel Woods’s main house. Abigail had wanted to revamp one of the guest cottages to serve as their home, but money had been tight after the divorce—and Cal hadn’t been there to carry out their former vision. Instead, her part-time employee and friend Alice Ann occupied one lone cottage, dividing her time between Laurel Woods and her son’s place in town. Abigail nodded, closing the door with a soft click and motioning toward the stairway. She walked down the stairs to the B and B’s common area, Cal following.

When she reached the main floor, she saw Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks had returned from their day-long swamp tour aboard the Creole Princess .

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Orgeron,” Rita called, wiping snickerdoodle crumbs from her mouth. Abigail set hot cocoa and cookies out each evening for her guests, and her great-aunt Vergie’s snickerdoodle recipe always garnered rave reviews. “I adore these cookies. You must tell me the recipe.”

“Sorry, it’s a secret family recipe. My great-aunt would haunt me if I gave it away...and I’m not sure there’s room for any more ghosts in this house. Rufus is about all I can handle.”

“Rufus, eh?” Mr. Hendricks laughed. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of your Confederate ghost.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Cal said, smiling at the older couple. They looked questioningly at him, so he extended a hand and his most charming grin. “I’m Cal Orgeron, Abigail’s husband.”

“Ex-husband,” Abigail said smoothly, wiping up the drips of cocoa on the antique sideboard, ignoring the awkward pause.