Her Lost And Found Baby

Impossible! But...maybe?

The way he was looking at her...he seemed to need her to understand something important. And she wanted to. For months she’d been wanting to. Their time together was going to be gone soon and she didn’t know him well enough.

Didn’t know what he felt when he got all quiet on her.

Didn’t know how he really felt about her. Other than as the other participant in their time out of real life to reach their goals.

“It started with your sabbatical?” she asked. “Going barefoot, I mean.”

“The carpet in the house is white,” he reminded her.

Cream-colored, but...yes. And the soles of his shoes would mark it in a day. So practical. So...Johnny. Maybe she knew him better than she thought.

“So our plan is to put in an application at The Bouncing Ball to gain access to more information in the hope of finding something that will link Jason and his father to Mark and Jackson?” she asked, her mind back on track. “We can enroll over the internet, so we don’t have to go back where Mark might see us, and maybe get a parent list? At the very least we need Jason’s last name.”

They needed to stay on track. It was just so hard, being alone in the world except for her coworkers, who’d once been closer friends than they were now. She’d shut them out to focus fully on her search for Jackson. Losing her son made her feel so powerless. So helpless.

“That’s the plan,” Johnny said, willing, as always, to let go of any moment that might verge on discomfort.

With her, anyway. In his real life he was a high-powered corporate attorney.

A man she didn’t know.

Setting down her glass of wine, Tabitha thanked him for being the best friend she’d ever had and said good-night.

She wanted to stay. To ask him tough questions. Real questions. To touch his heart, let him know how much he’d touched hers.

To ask if there was any way he’d be willing to consider a longer-term agreement.

His easy smile followed her across the room as he lifted the bottle they’d been sharing and poured himself a little more wine.

With the half wave that was her usual “see ya,” Tabitha closed her bedroom door, buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

In fresh jeans and a clean purple Angel shirt, Tabitha brought along a fresh state of mind as she worked beside Johnny the next morning in the prep kitchen he’d rented for the next month.

He grilled the pork and steak while she seasoned and cooked all the beans. Everything would be refrigerated, then reheated as needed throughout the day.

“I don’t think we should cut back on the beans,” she told him. “We almost ran out yesterday.” Their weekly plan—a spreadsheet he always provided that was taped to a cupboard between them—indicated one gallon can less of each. He’d based that on foot traffic research he’d done on the beach area, which he’d averaged for Tuesdays.

What she wanted to tell him was that she had an idea for a new plan. She’d thought she’d do it on the drive over that morning, but he’d been hell-bent on a particular cup of coffee from a particular place—his favorite—and she’d figured he deserved a morning when coffee was the most important thing on his mind.

Lord knew, between the two of them and their individual needs, those kinds of mornings were few. At least, when they were together. What he did when they weren’t working she couldn’t say.

Because she didn’t ask.

“We should still cut back,” he said. He stopped what he was doing to send her a warm smile, as if to soften the blow of his refusal to accept her opinion on the needed quantity of beans. Johnny almost never paused when he was chopping. Especially beef. Seeming to remember that, he glanced at the knife in his hand and returned his attention to the board on the counter in front of him. “It’s Tuesday,” he said, by way of explanation.

In the six months they’d been actually out food trucking, as opposed to getting things set up, he’d run out of food exactly twice. So she went along with one fewer can of beans.

“I think instead of applying for Chrissy, we should tell Mallory Harris the truth.” That wasn’t quite how she’d planned to present her idea, but there it was.

She didn’t look at Johnny as she added the bag of his premixed spices to the pan of black beans, adjusting the heat underneath them as she stirred. She listened to him chop, thankful for the even, rhythmic beat of blade against board.

“You’re the one who always wants to do things on the up-and-up, to cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s. And finally having found Jackson, I don’t want to do anything that might make me seem less than...”

She barely registered his lack of chopping before she felt his hands on her arms. “It’s okay, Tabitha.” His easy tone settled the tension building inside her while his hands distracted her from the reason for that tension.

Johnny’s touch...it always did that to her. Distracted her. And reassured her.

“You don’t have to sound so defensive or feel like you need to convince me. Finding Jackson—how we do it, that’s your call.”

It was part of their agreement. He called the food truck shots. She called her own.

And suddenly she didn’t want to. Not without his input. Not now that they’d found Jackson. Her son was so close, yet not really within her reach.

“I want to tell her,” she said again. “She seems to truly care. The way she talked about her hours, working late at night after everyone leaves, and if she’s there during the day, which by what she said she is... I get the feeling that The Bouncing Ball is way more than a business to her.”

“Again, I’m not arguing.” He’d moved back to his board but wasn’t chopping. They had a prep time limit, one he was going to miss if he didn’t get going. Which could mean they’d lose their prime parking spot.

“I think she’ll help us,” Tabitha said, a spoon in each hand as she stirred both pans of beans. It had only taken her a week to get her prep responsibilities down to a science. When she glanced at him, he quickly looked from her to his board.

He’d been watching her.

“What?” she asked, watching him now. Stirring beans didn’t require constant vigilance like wielding the knife did.

He shrugged and she suddenly wondered what those shoulders looked like in a suit coat. Probably not as good as they did in the tight-fitting polo shirt. They’d be as strong, though. As supportive.

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Please. I’m asking because I need to know.” About Jackson. And the next move in her quest.

“Mallory’s first loyalty will likely be to Jason’s father. She clearly had sympathy for him and appears to hold him in high regard.”

“You’re basing that on what?” she asked. The side of his clean-shaven face told her very little, except that he wasn’t smiling.

“The warmth in her voice as she mentioned him, for one.”

“You think she has a thing for him?” She hadn’t gotten that impression at all.

“No. She just seemed...fond of them as clients and might try to protect them.”

“You think she’ll tell him?”

“I think it’s a possibility you should consider.”

“And by the time I convince her I’m right, Mark will be gone...with Jackson.”

She knew what his shrug meant that time.