Second Time's the Charm

“But if you’d allow me to return the favor—professional skills in exchange for professional skills...”

Her hands stilling, Lil

lie 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.