Page 24 of Hearts Aweigh

A BBY ’ S CHEEKS ACHED FROM SMILING.

Fake smiling. She’d done her best on her second date with the minister.

Norville had been considerate and attentive on their quiet walk around a lower deck.

He’d even offered his jacket when it got too windy.

She’d enjoyed the gallantry until the overwhelming scent of his musky cologne gave her a headache.

They’d talked of growing up and hobbies and spiritual matters. It was obvious why the Shippers had chosen him. He matched her in so many ways.

But it was hopeless.

There was no spark. No zing. No unnamed something that kept a person awake until three in the morning replaying every interaction.

She checked her watch and hurried. She’d promised to meet Mr. Masterson and Madeleine at the restaurant. Abby broke into a run and arrived outside the ornate wooden doors of Trafalgar with twenty seconds to spare.

“I made it.” She held up her hand to Maddie for a high five.

The adorable girl stared at the open palm, paused, and lifted her hand to wave.

The poor thing. How had she lived this long on planet Earth with no one giving her a high five?

Abby saw she had her work cut out for her.

The remainder of the voyage would be spent introducing Madeleine Masterson to all the wonderful, silly parts of childhood she’d missed so far.

Abby tapped her hand against Maddie’s. “High five! You do this when you’re happy.”

Maddie looked at Abby and then at her father. She pointed back and forth without a word.

“Ah.” Abby rose on her tippy-toes. “I’m not sure I can reach, but I’ll try.” She extended her hand. “High five?”

Spencer Masterson quirked his head. “How is it you have no filter or fear of embarrassment?”

Abby laughed. “When you work with young kids, you chuck your pride out the window. Besides, I take my silliness very seriously.” She adopted a stern expression and wiggled her fingers. “High five … sir?”

He smacked her hand with his larger one. But instead of pulling away, he bent the tops of his fingers over hers. They dwarfed her own by a good bit. The warmth of his broad palm pressed against her skin.

Zing!

The sensation shot from her toes to her top. It pinballed through Abby’s heart and lit her insides.

“Working hard, Abigail?” A mocking voice interrupted.

Abby jerked away and turned to find her supervisor behind them. Twila wore a different outfit than the monogrammed polo and shorts most childcare workers preferred. She stood in her knee-length purple skirt and crisp white jacket, eyeing the trio with one carefully drawn eyebrow hoisted.

She smirked. “I can see why you took the entire second half of the voyage off.”

“I’m not taking off.” Abby squirmed. “It’s part of our nanny valet service. Mr. Masterson brought a governess for his daughter, but the woman’s been sick.”

“Mm-hmm.” Twila waved at the swanky restaurant’s sign. “Tough gig.”

Abby sagged. She hated confrontation. When she’d been a kindergarten teacher, she’d dreaded parent-teacher conferences.

Her supervisor ignored her in favor of Spencer. “I trust Ms. O’Brien will provide you with the best service, sir.”

Spencer inspected the woman as if she were an intruder. A sensitive ten seconds stretched between them, and Twila dropped her gaze, polishing the gold uniform buttons with her sleeve.

“If you have any problems”—she squeaked the words—“don’t hesitate to contact me. Good night.” With a deferential bob of her head, she was gone.

Abby released a noisy breath. “Great. I’m going to be on splash pad duty for the rest of my Monarch life.”

Spencer opened one of the restaurant doors. “Did you do something to get on her bad side?”

Abby took Maddie by the hand, and they entered first. “She isn’t too happy with my new side gig as a nanny valet. Most passengers book it for a few hours, not an entire voyage. This extended assignment leaves them short-staffed at the Kids Kingdom.”

They checked in with the ma?tre d’, who led them to a table by a window.

Had it only been a day since she sat here with Norville?

The same elegant place settings with more silverware than she knew what to do with lined the linen tablecloth.

Folded napkins in the shape of swans rested on the plates.

Abby sat at the end of the four-person table on the same side as Maddie.

Spencer chose the seat across from Abby.

After settling in their chairs, he resumed the conversation.

“As the person who booked your services, I’m the one who deserves her ire. Why is the woman angry with you?”

Abby considered Maddie, leaned closer to Spencer, and lowered her voice. “I suspect Twila doesn’t like kids much. Because of me, she’ll have to spend more time with them instead of hiding in her office.”

“It’s a swan!” Maddie ignored the adult conversation and played with her folded napkin.

Abby placed her own cloth swan in front of the child. “Here, now you have two.”

Spencer was in the process of unfolding his own napkin. He froze and glanced at his daughter. Taking the swan from the empty seat beside him, he passed it to her. Madeleine giggled at the three cloth figures and pushed them around her imaginary table lake.

Tenderness covered Spencer’s face for the briefest of seconds before he turned his attention to Abby. “You keep the children in line with the finesse of a symphony conductor. Where did all that bravado go a few minutes ago?”

She shrugged. “I’m bigger than the kids. But adults are another matter. It’s hard to be commanding when you’re hobbit-size.”

“Size has nothing to do with it. The most fearsome judge I know is five feet tall. Every lawyer in New Orleans quakes when they learn he’ll be presiding over a case.”

Abby rested her elbows on the table. “How does he do it? Does he speak in a loud, bellowing voice?”

“Hardly. You have to lean close to hear him.”

“What’s his secret?”

“Should I teach you?”

She clasped her hands together. “I’ll be Maddie’s permanent splash pad partner in return.”

“Permanent? Is that a promise?”

Abby crossed her heart. “I promise.”

He cocked his head.

“Sorry. Force of habit. Please tell me, oh Master of Intimidation, how do I make others quake in their boots?”

Spencer stared at her without speaking. Abby smiled. The seconds ticked away.

She twisted in her seat. “What’s the secret? Do I grimace? Pound my fist? Wear power suits?”

He remained still.

She fiddled with the button at the neck of her polo shirt. “If you’d rather wait until later, I understand.”

Spencer rose slowly. He placed a hand on either end of the table. Abby inched back. He drew closer until he was centimeters away from her face. Her eyes widened.

“Silence,” he said.

“What?” Her lashes fluttered.

“The greatest weapon you can wield is silence. When you say nothing, people rush to fill the awkward void. The one who speaks first relinquishes control of the conversation to the other person. Don’t be in a hurry to answer.”

Abby said nothing. Not because she was following his advice. Her stomach had leaped into her throat. Every muscle in her body clenched. She wished he’d stop scorching the oxygen from the room.

Spencer’s gaze made a slow circuit from her forehead to her chin. He moved away. His tall frame settled on the seat. “Was that helpful?”

Abby sucked in a giant breath. “Wow! I pity the people going against you in court.” She waggled her shoulders. “I have never been so uncomfortable in my life.”

Uncomfortable? Of course she was uncomfortable.

He’d dismissed society’s unwritten rules of personal space, leaning over his employee in a way her supervisor would’ve surely misunderstood.

He grabbed a menu and held it up to block his face.

What had gotten into him? He checked and found Abby sending a tentative glance his way.

“What should I order?” she said.

“Your preferences might be different from mine. But to narrow it down, I recommend either the braised chicken or the caramelized shallot ravioli.”

“Chicken. My body aches for protein.”

Maddie held a swan in front of her face and asked in a squeaky voice, “Can I have pizza?”

“Look, Mr. Masterson! A talking bird that likes pizza.” Abby laughed. “But I think, Mrs. Swan, we should try something new. Why don’t you have chicken like me?”

Spencer appreciated her ability to turn Madeleine’s request down without making it seem like a rejection. She should try that tactic on the pasta preacher.

“Shall we say grace before or after the food arrives?” he joked.

Abby called his bluff. “Why not now? Let’s teach Maddie the important stuff.” She bent to the girl. “Saying grace is how we show God we’re grateful for our food.”

Maddie listened with wide eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be long. You bow your head and remember all the things you’re thankful for.”

Spencer reached out and took his daughter’s hand, then winked at her. “This is how the experts do it.”

Maddie slipped the fingers of her other hand into Abby’s and bowed her head. Spencer held his free hand across the table.

“I learned this trick from the minister.”

Abby plopped her hand into his. “He didn’t invent it.”

Spencer’s strong fingers enveloped hers. She shut her eyes and waited. Silence. She peeked at Spencer.

“You’d better say the blessing,” he said. “I haven’t passed the beginner level in the prayer department.”

“I’m a little surprised you talk to God.” Her brows winged upward.

“On the contrary”—Spencer’s smile was nothing short of angelic—“we used to be close when I was a boy. I’m sorry to say, I drifted as I grew older, assigning him to the same category as Santa Claus.”

Abby winced and jerked her head at Maddie.

He cleared his throat. “I assure you. I’ve seen the error of my ways and am consulting the Almighty on a regular basis now. But public prayers are still a bit beyond my purview. Ms. O’Brien, please say the blessing for us.”