Sweet Talking Man. Liz Talley

      She sounded like a Sunday schoolteacher. Abigail wasn’t just a good girl—she was the girl everyone hated because she didn’t screw up, because she gave others “that look” when they did. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

      Abigail pulled back. “Oh, no, that’s not true at all. We’re just very different people with different views.”

      “But different is good. Makes life much more interesting, don’t you think?”

      Abigail seemed to turn that over in her head—a virtual convenience-store hot-dog rack. “Sure. I guess that’s a good way to look at it.”

      But he could see she was lying. Different likely scared Abigail right out of those loafers. He glanced at her feet and saw that she wore boots. Sensible boots. The woman was as challenging as a blank canvas. What wonder could be brought forth if one bothered to spend the time creating on her page?

      But as tantalizing as the thought of pulling out his brushes and tackling the wall she’d erected was, something inside him warned against delving beneath her stoic facade. It was presumptuous of him to think he stood a chance with the obviously damaged woman. Still, he’d seen her gaze linger on him. He’d felt the interest she tried to hide behind her disapproval.

      But Leif never went where he wasn’t welcome.

      Birdie gave a sigh, lifting her drawing, eyeing it critically.

      “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.”