Kate nodded and ran off, searching for the mom to match with the boy.
The boy lifted his head and acted interested in the conversation for the first time. “My mom’s not here. She’s in San Diego. I won’t see her for two more months.” He had a little lisp when he said his th’s, and when he held up two adorable fingers, Amelia couldn’t help but smile.
“Who are you with, sweetie?” The boy pushed himself out of the dirt and into a sitting position, and Amelia had to resist the urge to dust him off. He squinched up one side of his face where the wood chips were embedded into his cheek and then relaxed it.
“My daddy. His name is Randy Mraz. He . . .”
“Oh, buddy!” A deep voice came from behind Amelia, and when she turned around, she saw a tall man with black hair sprinting across the playground, Kate running behind him. The man, wearing dark jeans and a ribbed long-sleeved tee shirt, knelt right next to Amelia, arms out to his son.
“Dawson! What happened? You okay, buddy?”
“I’m not sure. I just heard crying and came around the corner, and your little guy was on the ground, and my daughter Kate . . .” Amelia swallowed, waiting for the boy to spill it all about how Kate had pushed him down, leaving out the part where he was kicking her relentlessly, but he stayed quiet and Amelia continued. “Kate was making sure he was okay. They had some kind of altercation.” She tossed up her hands like she was saying, Kids! What can you do? and Randy nodded like he understood. “But he just wanted you. I think he’s okay.”
“Yeah, Dawson sometimes has a hard time playing nice on the playground. Don’t worry. I’m sure Kate was the innocent party here.” He looked up at Amelia, squinting at the sun in his eyes. Broadlands was a small town, and she’d never seen this dad before. He was handsome in a very frat-boy kind of way, not exactly Amelia’s type when she was still single but cute enough that she’d have remembered him at a PTO meeting or walking through Piggly Wiggly.
“I wouldn’t exactly call her innocent . . .” Amelia laughed, eyeing with a raised eyebrow the brown-haired little girl peeking around the side of the slide.
Dawson’s dad coaxed him closer, and finally the boy fell into his arms. Amelia expected the child’s cool exterior to break and sobbing to ensue now that his father was there, but instead he shrugged as he leaned against his dad’s chest and sighed.
“I guess I’ll survive,” he said with very grown-up resignation. Amelia caught the father’s eye and gave him a knowing smirk that said his kid was just the cutest.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Such a relief!” The dad laughed, raising his eyebrows at Amelia. The man’s eyes were light, like Caleb’s, but blue, not green. And his hair was dark like Steve’s. No, darker. A Bluetooth headset hung from his ear, and Amelia couldn’t get a clear idea of whether he was just a self-important weirdo or whether he needed the Bluetooth for some kind of job that also left him free to take his kid to the park on a Monday morning.
Randy kissed Dawson on the top of the head and then stood up. “Think you’re recovered enough to go play?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Can I have five . . . no, ten minutes?” He held up two hands, digits extended.
“How about twelve minutes?”
“What? Yeah!” Dawson’s eyes were wide with exaggerated surprise at his father’s generous offer. Then he turned to Kate and put out a hand. “Hey, girl, wanna go down the slide together?”
Kate looked at Amelia for permission. She nodded as Randy added, “Dawson . . . don’t call her ‘girl’! Ask her name . . .” as the two former enemies ran off hand in hand. They watched the pair climb up the molded rock wall, Dawson shouting out orders and Kate ignoring him like a pro.
“I give it six minutes,” Randy said, glancing at his bulky silver and black watch, “maybe ten if we’re lucky.”
“Ten minutes sounds like heaven on a day like today.” Amelia took in another sweeping glance at the park. Weather as small talk usually bored her, but right now she just wanted to soak in the spring air and try to remember what summer felt like.
Randy didn’t respond at first. He seemed to be thinking and maybe also looking around the park, but when she made it back around to her new companion, she found his eyes weren’t on the trees or the sky; they were on her.
“I don’t think that we’ve met officially. I’m Randy Mraz, and that sweet angel”—he chuckled under his breath—“is my little guy, Dawson. We just moved here from Arizona not too long ago, so, yes, this break in the weather is much needed by these two desert dwellers.” He put out his hand, and Amelia took it.
“Well, let me be one of the last, apparently, to welcome you to our town.” Amelia laughed and took her hand back. “What brought you to Broadlands? We don’t get a lot of move-ins here. Unless you work for the railroad, in fast-food management, or . . .” She looked over his neat, carefully pressed pants and designer leather shoes, their laces carefully tied in a bow. No. This man probably didn’t even eat fast food, much less work in a facility.
“Think real estate . . . ,” Randy hinted, seeming to enjoy Amelia’s guessing game and half watching the kids play on the equipment.
“Ooh . . . are you rebuilding Nancy’s? That abandoned store right by Route Twelve? I’ve always thought it would be a great place for a mall. Right off the highway. Come on . . . gotta be . . . right?”
“Wow, that is a very specific guess.” He shook his head and put his hands in his pockets, no rings on any fingers. Single father? Would make sense with what little Dawson was saying about his mom. Okay. Now she was getting nosy.
“Well, I have very specific hopes, I guess.” She tried to laugh, but she couldn’t help but notice how disappointed she sounded. It wasn’t the idea of Nancy’s never becoming a mall that turned her suddenly sad but the idea that so many of her hopes had ended up like that burned-out old grocery store—forgotten, empty, and beyond repair. Randy Mraz seemed to sense the turn in her mood and got that searching look in his eye again that made Amelia feel like she needed to look away.
He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but . . . I’m just a real estate agent. Mostly residential. Some commercial, but unless you’re wanting to invest in developing your old market, I’m not gonna be much help.”
“You can make enough money selling real estate here?” She covered her mouth as soon as the exclamation escaped. “Sorry. That was not an appropriate question.”