by Lucy Gilmore
“He’s gonna pee on my new tights.”
Helen pulled her head back out again, her hair tickling against his cheek as she went. “Poor little thing,” she murmured. “Rough day?”
Ford bit back a sigh and turned to his daughter, making a quick hand sign for her to be polite and say hello. Emily complied, but sullenly, not the least bit pleased at finding herself in the wrong. Technically, she wasn’t—the last time he’d lectured her on her behavior toward their neighbor, he’d stressed the importance of saying something nice or not saying anything at all—but he hadn’t expected her to take him quite so literally.
Not that he could blame her for it. No matter how much time Helen spent with them or how many times he tried to explain it, she always seemed to think a loud voice and slow speech were all that were necessary to overcome Emily’s challenges.
“Did you have a doctor’s appointment this morning?” Helen persisted as she stepped back to allow him out of the car. “We missed you at drop-off.”
“Oh, our errand today was much better than a doctor’s visit,” Ford said, careful to keep his tone light. He had to. It was the part of the game they played, the persona he’d cultivated after years of living in a neighborhood like this one.
It contained mostly women—mostly single—and a nicer and more supportive group of people he had yet to meet. Since the day he’d moved in, women like Helen Griswold and Maddie Thomas and Danica DeWinter had gone above and beyond to help him figure out this whole single-parent thing. Most of them had children in Emily’s kindergarten class, and most of them were kind, knowledgeable, genuinely interesting human beings who’d helped him out of a tight corner more times than he cared to admit.
Therein lay the problem. He liked them. He appreciated them. But there were times when all he wanted to do was unload his daughter and her new puppy without being interrogated about it. They were invested in everything, from his childcare to his (lack of a) dating life. He’d once tried making up a girlfriend in Canada in the hope that it would buy him some space, but all that had done was launch a series of questions about maple syrup and universal health care that he was sure he’d failed at the outset.
“Daddy!” came a shout from inside the minivan. “He’s peeing. I told you.”
Helen lifted her brow at him.
“He’s peeing,” Ford apologized. “She told me. I should know better than to doubt a lady’s word.”
Without waiting for her to say more, Ford ducked his head and bolted around the van to extricate his daughter and the wriggling puppy, who was making quick work of turning the upholstery into his own private bathroom.
Lila had warned him that Jeeves might take a few days to settle into his new home and new routine, but she hadn’t mentioned that the animal had a bladder the size of a marble. Gently lifting the puppy and aiming his pink belly away from the van, Ford had to stand there, looking like a cherub in a stone fountain, until Jeeves had finally reached empty.
“He’s not used to such refined company,” he said when Helen came around to join them, a look of inquiry on her face. “His best friend was a mongrel, his last girlfriend a cur.”
“His last girlfriend…?”
“You can’t hold him like that.” Emily hopped down from the van and held her arms out for her puppy. “Princess Lila said to be gentle. You’re not being gentle.”
Considering the streak of yellow snow leading from his formerly more-or-less clean van, he felt he was being extraordinarily gentle, but he complied with his daughter’s request all the same. To be fair, Jeeves was a cute little thing, his curls flopping into his eyes and alternate patches of black and white all over his warm, chubby body. He was even cuter once Emily got hold of him. Ford had no idea whether all the puppies at Lila’s kennel were this well behaved or if Emily had some kind of sixth sense, but Jeeves had taken to his daughter as quickly as she’d taken to him. As soon as the cockapoo—a name Ford found almost as ridiculous as his own—was clasped in her puffy-coated arms, he hefted a sigh of pleasure and rested his little head on her shoulder.
Only try to separate us now, that little head seemed to say—and in a British accent, too. Unlike him, Jeeves von Hinklebottom the Third had been aptly named.
“Oh, how sweet!” Helen cooed. “You got a pet. Isn’t he the most precious, sweetest little—”
Emily stiffened. “Jeeves von Hinklebottom the Third is not a pet,” she informed their neighbor in the exact same tone Lila had used with her. The stern, serious look was also identical. They both wore it too well for Ford’s peace of mind. “He has a very ’portant job to do. You can’t touch him.”
“Well, really. That’s not very nice.”
“No, it’s not. Her delivery could use some work.”
Apparently, Emily disagreed. With a pert toss of her head, she added, “He is a servistus animal. No one can pet him but me and Daddy and Princess Lila.”
“Is there a reason she keeps referencing Star Wars?”
Ford had to laugh. Helen Griswold was the divorced mother of two very imaginative, very rambunctious boys who believed the entire world began and ended in a galaxy far, far away.
“It’s Princess Lila, and she’s the dog trainer,” he explained. He also started hoisting supplies out of the back of his van, even though he had no idea where he was going to put them all. For such a small animal, Jeeves had an awful lot of baggage. People had sailed on the Titanic with less. “Jeeves here is Emily’s new hearing service animal. Or he will be, after six weeks of intensive training with Washington’s finest dog expert.”
Helen wrinkled her nose. “Washington’s finest dog expert is a member of the royalty?”
“Oh, yes.” There was no doubt in Ford’s mind about that. A more commanding, regal woman he had yet to meet. And expensive. Even though he wasn’t paying for the puppy or the training, thanks to Lila’s generosity and a grant from the Auditory Guild, he’d looked up Puppy Promise’s usual rates. If he worked very hard and donated an internal organ or two, he might have been able to save up enough by the time Emily was ready for college. “We were lucky to get her. But most of the early training has to take place at home, so Emily will be out of school until after the holidays. That’s why we weren’t at drop-off this morning.”
Emily had tired of their company by this time, so she wandered off across the yard with her puppy in her arms, pointing out to him the various items worthy of note. As these included such fascinating subjects as the mailbox—don’t pee on that—the birdhouse—don’t pee on that—and her tire swing—definitely don’t pee on that—Ford let her make the grand tour without him.
He’d hoped that the explanation would signal the end of the conversation, but Helen placed her hand on his arm and adopted a low, confidential tone. “Won’t it be tough for you, having her home all day?” she asked. The question was a lot like her—kindly meant, but far too intrusive for Ford’s peace of mind. “What about your work? Your free time? Your social life?”
Ford kept his mouth clamped shut, even though he could have enlightened Helen about any of those subjects. His work as an instruction manual illustrator, done mostly hunched over his drafting desk in the kitchen, would have to be fit in around puppy training sessions. His free time had been a long-running and not very funny joke for years. And as for a social life, well, you could hardly miss something you didn’t have.
But none of those mattered. “Any time I get to spend with Emily is time well spent,” he said in a sharp voice he barely recognized.
The effect of his words was both immediate and regrettable. Helen flushed, her already-pink cheeks swelling with red, a hurt expression pulling at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said, instantly contrite. “That came out wrong. I only meant that it’s taken care of. I worked out a full schedule ahead of time.”
Helen accepted his apology with good grace, but the damage was already done. “I was only trying to help,” she said in a small, downcast voice.
> “I know. And I appreciate it.”
“I worry about you two, that’s all.”
“We’d be lost without you,” he agreed. “Dropped in the middle of nowhere without a map.”
“If we can’t count on each other, who do we have?”
“Siri, mostly,” he confessed. “And she’s not nearly as sparkling a conversationalist as I’d like. I asked her on a date last night, but she told me her lack of a corporeal form would only get in the way.”
The last of Helen’s dejection fled, and she laughed. Ford had the benefit of knowing that her usual good humor was restored, but he bit back a sigh anyway. There were times when he regretted his tendency to resort to heavy-handed flirtation as a way to handle any social interaction with the opposite sex. What had started as an easy way to maintain emotional distance in the wake of his divorce had become a habit so ingrained that he didn’t know how else to act anymore.
It worked with Helen just fine, obviously, and a reputation for playful irreverence ensured that he never sat alone at school functions. Still. It would have been nice to be a little bit less like the village fool.
With someone like Lila, for example.
“Alexa, now, she’s a little more receptive to my allure,” he joked as he finished unloading the van. “So far, she’s got me strictly in friendzone territory, but I think I’m making headway. We cooked an Alfredo sauce last night that was to die for.”
Helen laughed. She also pulled out her keys so she could unlock the front door for him while his hands were full. It was a small gesture but a thoughtful one, and typical of the women on this street. They carpooled and arranged playdates. They shared house keys for emergency lockouts. They babysat during last-minute appointments and always, always had children’s aspirin on hand.
They were, to put it simply, a godsend. He’d never have been able to do any of this without them.
They were wonderful. And so very exhausting.
“Oh, you,” she said playfully. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”
“Not if I can possibly help it. Haven’t you heard? I’m an unreliable rogue.”
“I like a good rogue,” she said with a grin.
He winked. “You only say that because I haven’t called you to help me hide any bodies yet.”
The banter had its intended effect, which was to send Helen on her way without any major rift in their relationship. She’d continue to believe him an incorrigible flirt, yes, but that was how the game was played. Since it was the same treatment he afforded all the single females of his acquaintance, she wouldn’t lose any sleep over him.
He waited only until her retreating form moved down the driveway before sagging against the doorframe. One of these days, he was going to import a real girlfriend from Canada and save himself a lot of trouble.
“Are you done making Ms. Helen laugh now?” Emily asked, picking up on the cue at once. “Jeeves is getting cold.”
“Yes, moppet,” he said and sighed. That child was far too astute for her own good. And mine. “You two head on inside. We’ve got a lot of work to do getting that little guy settled in before Princess Lila comes tomorrow.”
At the mention of her dog trainer, Emily perked up. “Do you think she’ll wear her dress this time?”
Ford pictured the boxy suit Lila had worn today, as far removed from a princess as a person could possibly get, and laughed. “Maybe we’ll call her later and ask,” he said, deriving a considerable amount of amusement from imagining that conversation. “It never hurts to try.”
Chapter 4
Lila stared at her wardrobe with a mounting sense of frustration.
Here she was, a thirty-one-year-old college-educated woman and owner of a successful business. She drove a Prius. She spoke two languages. She had a sound retirement plan.
“Then why, oh, why, is it so hard to pick a stupid outfit?” she muttered.
She didn’t have to supply an answer. She already knew full well what was bothering her, and it definitely wasn’t a man with a ridiculous name and the best laugh she’d heard in her life.
The phone rang from the living room, saving her from the danger of dwelling on that laugh. The landline was their business number, which meant that one of her sisters would be sure to pick up the call. Sophie didn’t live in the house anymore, having moved out to live with her boyfriend in Deer Park, but she usually came by for a few hours every morning to do basic training with the puppies. Dawn could be counted on to act as secretary, too, since she rarely left the house before noon.
“Sure thing, Ms. Askari. I’ll put her on right away.” Sophie’s head popped through the door, a smile on her lips as she took in the sight of Lila standing in front of her closet clad only in her underwear. The smile was no real surprise. Dawn would have told their youngest sister all about yesterday’s beige suit. And about how she’d defected the moment she caught sight of Ford, leaving Lila at his debonair mercy.
Lila was sure they’d had a good laugh about it at her expense, too. They usually did.
“Lila, there’s a woman from the Auditory Guild on line two.”
Her sister spoke with a grave voice and professional mien that was largely faked. There was no line two on their phone. There was barely a line one, but when you were trying to impress an organization the size of the Auditory Guild, you improvised.
“Thank you, Soph.” She took the phone and tried shutting the door behind her, but that didn’t work. Sophie slipped through the crack and started rummaging through the closet, nothing but virtue on her sweet, heart-shaped face.
The traitor. Sophie was just as bad as Dawn—no, she was worse, because at least Dawn owned up to her sneaky, manipulative ways. Sophie was like one of those fluffy, adorable baby owls that blinked innocently before swooping down and murdering entire meerkat colonies. She was a fighter, that one. She’d had to be, since most of her childhood had been spent battling leukemia.
All the sisters’ roles in life had been defined by that illness—of those years spent living in a hospital, of never knowing if Sophie’s next breath would be her last. It was in everything they said and did. Sophie looked fragile, yes, but she was forged of steel. On the surface, Dawn offered nothing but saucy indifference, but her heart was as soft and mushy as a bowl of oatmeal. And Lila, well…
Lila got things done. One of them had to, and as the eldest, the task had naturally fallen to her.
“Hello, Anya?” Lila tucked the handset against her chin. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is marvelous, darling. Absolutely marvelous.” Anya’s voice was breathy and fluttering, more suited for an East Coast society dame than the director of a nonprofit the size of the Auditory Guild, but Lila wasn’t fooled. Anya could rip someone apart faster than Sophie and her meerkats. “Listen, I had a chance to talk with Mr. Ford last night, and I want you to know that I’m very pleased with how you’re handling things so far.”
“Oh. Um.” Lila blinked and looked at Sophie, who was holding up some kind of yellow sundress that was laughable for this time of year. Lila shook her head and tried to focus on the call. “I’m glad he likes the puppy Emily picked out. She went with the cockapoo, which was one of my top choices. He’s smart and sweet and just the right size for a child.”
“Oh, yes. The cockapoo. Of course.”
There was a pause that Lila knew from experience presaged a piece of news she wasn’t going to like. She’d only known Anya Askari for a little over a year, but with that woman, a few months was all it took. Even before she’d run the Guild, Anya had been a fierce advocate for hearing services, a role she’d risen to after her two young children had been diagnosed with auditory processing disorders. If you wanted to do any kind of work in the field—and Lila did—Anya was there to make sure you did it correctly.
Lila respected the hell out of the woman. She was also terrified of her.
“To be honest, I’m less concerned about the animal and
more concerned about you,” Anya said, not mincing words. “You know I think the world of the personalized approach you and your sisters take, and I’m thrilled to think that this donation of yours could lead to future cases between us.”
She wasn’t the only one. Lila knew all too well that this case with Emily Ford was a trial run, a test to see if Puppy Promise lived up to the Auditory Guild’s high standards. If they—if she—did, there was every possibility that the Guild would subsidize future charitable contracts.
“But?” Lila prompted.
“Well.” Anya hesitated again. “The truth is, I was rather hoping you’d have Sophie or Dawn handle the juvenile cases.”
As if to prove the wisdom of such a decree, Sophie held up a horrible lime-green bridesmaid dress that Lila had worn to a friend’s wedding years ago before dissolving into silent giggles.
“Unfortunately, they’re both in the middle of other training right now,” Lila said with a glare at her giddy sister. Suddenly realizing the direction this conversation was headed, she stiffened and held the phone more precisely against her ear. “Wait—are you asking me to step down from the Emily Ford case?”
“Well, no,” Anya said. “Not anymore. I did have my doubts about you, especially after meeting with Emily’s medical team, but that was before.”
“Before?” Lila echoed.
“Oh yes. I had a long chat with Mr. Ford, and he couldn’t sing your praises highly enough. And that princess ball gown… I have to say, darling, I didn’t think you had it in you. It was enchanting. I wanted to tell you at the party, but you always seemed to be off hiding in a corner somewhere.”
Lila couldn’t help a flame of mortification from washing over her. Hiding in corners was precisely what she had done. “Oh yes. Well…”
“Clearly, you understand children better than I thought. I wanted to apologize for doubting you and to let you know that I’m already lining up several other parents who might be interested in a consultation. I won’t include you on our list of approved providers until this case with Emily is complete, but you’re on the right track.” She paused again, this time with a laugh lurking in the subtext. “Did you really put Christmas bows on all the puppies?”