11
“This is a rather charming character sketch,” Ginger said as she inspected one of Jack’s drawings for their children’s book.
Seated across from Jack on the terrace at the Seabreeze Inn, Ginger Delavie peered through rhinestone reading glasses and adjusted her broad-brimmed straw hat against the afternoon sun. She considered each of Jack’s sketches spread out on the table before her in turn.
“From what you’ve told me, that’s how I imagined the youngest girl,” Jack said, pointing to one.
Ginger lifted her brow. “Why, yes. That’s quite good.”
“I’ve often wondered, where did you get your inspiration for the stories?” Jack suspected he knew. He enjoyed hearing Ginger speak. Her fascinating experiences were seemingly boundless, with one story inevitably spilling into another.
Ginger rem
