by Lucy Gilmore
“Um, did I miss the invitation to the local Renaissance fair?” Ford asked. “I wish you’d said something earlier. I have an elven sword I’m always looking for an excuse to roll out.”
Lila ignored him with her usual bland efficiency. “Is Emily still sleeping?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she smoothed her skirts and looked about the room, her eyes narrowed as she appraised its contents. “That’s good. It’ll give me a chance to set everything up.”
“Actually, she’s been up since about four o’clock this morning. She and Jeeves have been working out the intricacies of all the different rooster crows at Grandma Louise’s house.” That finally got Lila’s attention. She swiveled toward him, her lips slightly parted. “I’m not sure how accurate the training has been, but you’ll be pleased to know that the pair of them seem to have the volume part down just fine.”
“Oh, Ford.” Lila’s hands flew to her mouth, but not before her smoky laugh managed to escape. If he’d thought the power of that laugh while she was dressed in a boxy beige suit was bad, it was nothing compared to the effect it was having on him now. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“Not really, no,” he admitted, but stopped himself from making the mistake of telling her that it was a low-voiced dog trainer who had been responsible for most of his restlessness. “But I used my time wisely, if that makes you feel better. I watched no fewer than twenty-seven YouTube videos on how to make the perfect princess braid. I’m thinking of opening a shop. Can I poke around in yours?”
Her hands moved to her head, curling protectively around the flowers. “No, you can’t poke—” As if remembering something, she snapped her mouth shut and drew a deep breath before starting again, this time with painstaking formality. “Of course, Mr. Ford. Anything you’d like.”
He made a gentle tsking sound, his tone matching her own. “You might want to be careful with those kinds of promises, Ms. Vasquez.”
Her mouth formed a prim line. “If it will help Emily and Jeeves with their training, then you can do whatever you want to my hair.”
“Whatever I want? You obviously underestimate my ingenuity.”
“Oh, I rate your ingenuity just fine. Your sincerity, however, is highly suspect.”
He chuckled. Lila obviously still took him for some kind of loose screw, incapable of uttering a truthful word. If she had any idea how much he meant what he said—of how much he longed to unwind her braids and bury himself in her hair, her scent, her body…well. Maybe it was a good thing, after all. There was such a thing as coming on too strong.
“Since you haven’t dressed yet, can I suggest you put on something a little more formal than usual?” she said. “A bow tie, if you have it. Otherwise, a nice shirt and slacks will do the trick.”
“A bow tie?” he echoed. He cast a look down at himself, aware that today, as yesterday, he was sadly unprepared for the arrival of a gorgeous, well-put-together woman in his home. He had on the same worn-out pajama pants from the day before, his torso bare and his feet in a pair of the fuzzy socks Emily proudly bestowed on him for every holiday.
He wasn’t always such a sad sack of a man, and could, if given enough warning, put together an altogether presentable appearance. But he had a puppy, dammit. And a kid. And a bed that, no matter how many times he tossed and turned and thumped the pillows, never got close to the comfort he’d felt at having Lila seated at his knee while she talked him through the steps of braiding her hair.
“A bow tie is out of the question, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “The tuxedo, too. I probably should have warned you that it was a rental. Owning one is a bit beyond my reach.”
“No bow tie?”
He shook his head.
“No tuxedo?”
He spread his hands in a gesture of futility. Although he knew Lila didn’t take him the least bit seriously, he was grateful for the opportunity to clear the air. She already knew, on some level, that his financial situation was precarious enough that it didn’t allow him to purchase a service dog without the help of the Auditory Guild. If that hadn’t convinced her that he was a man of simple means, then one look at his house and the trusty—and now pee-soaked—minivan would have given her a clue. Single parenthood and hefty medical bills were no joke in this neighborhood.
It was a sobering thing, admitting his penury out loud. Or rather, it was until Lila spoke again.
“Yet you have an elven sword at the ready?”
His crack of laughter brought Jeeves trotting into the living room, Emily not far in his wake.
“What is it, Daddy?” Emily asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. They remained that way until she saw Lila standing there with her hands on her hips, betraying by not so much as a flash of that dimple that she’d bested him at his own game. “Oh, it’s Princess Lila. She’s making you laugh this time.”
“Yes, moppet,” he said as he dropped a kiss on his daughter’s hairline. Once again, that sapient, all-seeing child had managed to sum up the situation in a few disconcerting seconds. “I imagine Princess Lila is always making the young, unmarried gentlemen laugh.”
At that, a look of pain swept across Lila’s dark gaze. It was a brief flicker and nothing more, gone so fast he might have missed it. But he hadn’t missed it, and he didn’t care for the way it snagged and caught in his chest.
Before he could do any probing into its cause, however, Lila turned to Emily. She waited until she had Emily’s full attention before speaking, but it was obvious she had something serious to impart. “We’re going to have a very important tea party today, so I need you to go to your room and put on your prettiest dress,” she said.
“A tea party?” Emily breathed. “For real?”
“For absolute real,” Lila replied. “I brought an obscene number of cakes and cookies with me, so I hope you’re hungry. And, um, that your dad doesn’t mind if I pump you full of sugar first thing in the morning.”
“Why not? I can always sleep when I’m dead.”
“There are treats for Jeeves, too,” Lila said with a casual disregard for Ford’s state of well-being.
At the sound of his name, the cockapoo’s ears perked. He was a restful little creature almost all of the time, patient in ways that seemed unnatural to Ford, but he was never quite able to subdue his ears. They drooped when he was sad, twitched when he was playful, and flopped the rest of the time.
Emily clasped her hands in front of her. “And it’s all for me? Just for me?”
“Well, you’re the guest of honor,” Lila said with a nod, “but I’ve invited a few others to join us.”
Just like that, a shutter came down over Emily’s eyes. “What kind of others?”
Abort. Change course. Back oh-so-slowly away.
It was sound advice. He’d tried throwing parties for Emily in the past—birthday parties and summer parties and, yes, even tea parties—but they rarely ended well. Each time, the RSVPs flew in and lifted Ford’s hopes accordingly. They rarely stayed that way for long. It only took a few arrivals and even fewer minutes to realize that the children were there under strong parental compulsion. When she was younger, Emily hadn’t noticed as much, but school had taught her a lot more than the basics of the alphabet. Social training started early these days.
But in this, as in all things, he’d underestimated Lila.
“I can’t tell you, I’m afraid. It would jeopardize their safety.”
Although Emily’s thumb was still snaking a treacherous path toward her mouth, she allowed herself to be distracted. “Whose safety?”
Lila cast a careful look around the living room as if expecting villains to emerge from the dusty corners. “I can’t say more without risking everything. But you should definitely put something fancy on. They’ll be expecting it.”
There was nothing more for her to say. Emily took Lila at her somber, regal word, her eyes wide with the importance of the task laid before her. Without another word of protest—and with her th
umb now firmly at her side—Emily lifted her chin and went to her room.
Jeeves followed, of course, but not before he lifted his ears in an almost exact imitation of the tilt of Emily’s head.
“Um, I hate to critique a plan you’ve clearly put some thought into, but nothing short of the Queen of England on that doorstep will do now,” Ford said. “You realize that, right?”
“You really don’t have anything nicer than pajama pants?” she asked by way of answer. Her eyes flicked over his bare torso. “Not even a matching shirt?”
He might have felt embarrassed to be caught in such a state of bare-chested déshabillé if not for the way her gaze lingered a shade too long. It was the same way his own eyes kept trailing back to the tight bodice of her dress, enjoying the way each breath swelled both fabric and skin.
“Alas, my wardrobe is the product of my existence,” he said. “There’s no need for finery when I rarely leave the house.”
“Surely you must go out sometimes,” she persisted. “What do you wear on dates?”
“Nothing.”
A flush of color washed over her, by now a familiar sight. Ford was coming to realize that it was the only sign Lila ever gave that she was the least bit flustered. She held herself prim and polite in almost all situations, but not even she could control the movement of blood through her veins.
“I don’t go on dates, that is,” he supplied with a grin. “I’m not in the habit of sauntering around in the nude.”
“You could have fooled me.”
That response, almost as much as the blush, told Ford that she wasn’t as indifferent as she wanted him to think. It was a much-needed boost to his ego, which had been showing signs of deflation lately. Back in the day, he’d been just as vain as the next relatively good-looking young man with the whole world before him, and he’d done what he could with it.
Unfortunately, it was difficult to puff up with self-importance while doing things like making peanut-butter sandwiches and buying toilet paper in bulk. And, if the email that had crossed his desk last night was any indication, when there was a good chance his employer was no longer going to offer flexible options in working from home.
Hello, Lila. I’m borderline unemployed and unable to cough up a tuxedo to wear to my daughter’s tea party. There’s dog hair on my pants, and I may or may not have remembered to brush my teeth this morning. Have I swept you off your feet yet?
Yeah, his game was definitely lacking these days. If he had to resort to flexing what few muscles he had to get this woman’s attention, then he’d do it. Pride, like suavity, was one of those things he’d long since disposed of.
“Your notes told me to turn the temperature up in the house,” he pointed out. “To help Jeeves acclimate. It’s not my fault I had to strip down. I’m very sensitive to the heat.”
Lila lifted her chin, her tone just as lofty as her posture. “What you wear in your own house is of no concern to me.” Then, bringing her chin down a fraction, “And what do you mean, you don’t go on dates?”
“Exactly that. Dinner, movies, making out in the back seat of my sweet minivan—it’s all off the table. I haven’t been on a date since, oh, let’s see…”
He let his voice trail off and tapped his chin as if thinking. In truth, there was no need for him to hesitate. He could have rattled off the exact day and time of his last date. It had involved a very pregnant wife, a bucket of fried chicken, and a blood oath that under no circumstances would he forget that she wanted every painkiller made available to women pushing human beings out of their bodies.
It had been a good date, all things considered. He liked fried chicken.
“Since just before Emily was born,” he eventually said.
Lila stared at him. There was no malice in that stare, but there was plenty of incredulity.
“I’ve been busy,” he protested. “And you saw what happened with Helen. Can you imagine what would happen if I took anyone out, even for a casual meal?”
“No dates at all?”
“Nary a one.”
“Not even for coffee?”
“Not even for one of those chocolate-covered espresso beans.”
Lila swept another one of those appraising gazes over him, this time not lingering on his exposed parts so much as absorbing the whole. He did his best to appear disinterested, but he feared he might have puffed his chest out a little.
“If it makes you feel any better, I do sometimes buy myself roses on Valentine’s Day,” he said. “But I usually wait until the day after so I can get half off. The nice perk about doing this sort of thing alone is that no one cares if the flowers are a little wilted.”
Ford had no idea what caused Lila’s eyes to widen and her color to pick up even more, but one thing he knew for sure—this wasn’t the good kind of blushing. A low humming sound built up in the back of her throat, and she extended a hand toward him before allowing it to fall again.
“Oh, s-h-i-t,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Ford. I wasn’t thinking.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, struggling to suppress a smile as she spelled out the obscenity. It had taken him three years and a lot of slipups to get the habit down. Lila was a fast learner. “What did you just say?”
“It didn’t even occur to me to ask about Emily’s mother.” Her color picked up even more. Another minute or two of this, and she was going to be as bright as the flowers in her hair. “Or maybe you don’t want me to ask. That’s okay, too. It’s none of my business. Forget I said anything.”
A fair request, especially considering that she’d grabbed the wrong end of the stick with both hands, but Ford couldn’t help himself. He rarely could.
“Alas, my heart is frozen,” he said with a palm held to his chest. “So are the rest of my parts. I only need the right woman to bring them back to life again.”
“Well. Um.” Her gaze fixed somewhere above his right shoulder. He was pretty sure the only thing back there was a sketch he’d made of Emily when she was a toddler, but it appeared to absorb Lila’s whole interest. “I’m sure you’ll find her someday.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he’d already found her. She was the smart, fierce, levelheaded brunette standing in his living room incongruously wearing a puffy princess dress, planning tea parties with mystery guests, and blushing like a virgin bride.
But of course he didn’t. That wasn’t the Ford Ford way. Women like Lila Vasquez didn’t look at him and expect earnest declarations of affection. He was good for a flirtation, ideal for a laugh. He used to be decent in the sack, too, but he doubted he’d be up to anyone’s standards these days.
Least of all a woman like her.
“It’s just me, all alone in my castle,” he said with a mournful note that wasn’t entirely faked.
“You have Emily.”
“There’s no one to hold me at night.”
“I’ve always found I get better sleep that way.”
He ignored the remark, which was offered with a growing note of skepticism. “No one to kiss. No one to cuddle.” He caught Lila’s eye. “No one to f-u-c-k.”
“Ford!” Lila reared up to her full height, but not wholly with indignation. There was laughter in that gaze; he was sure of it.
“What?” he asked with bland innocence. “You started spelling things out first.”
“Yes, but only because I thought you were mourning the loss of your wife.”
“Oh, I make it a point never to mourn Janine,” he said. “She ran off to the North Pole to escape me. I know when to take a hint.”
“The North Pole?” Lila echoed blankly. “You mean—”
“That I’m not pining for the lost love of my life?” He gave in to the urge to grin this time, but only because Lila was developing another one of those deep blushes. “No, I’m not. Or, rather, I wasn’t until a few days ago. Now it’s nothing but gnashing teeth and painful longing everywhere I turn.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.
”
“Are you, Lila?” He drew closer, unable to keep his distance any longer. She might be able to pretend to ignore the pull of attraction between them, but he didn’t have a fraction of her strength. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“You’re being highly i-n-a-p-p-r-o-p-r-i-a-t-e right now,” she said. Her whole body was stiff, but she didn’t back away. If anything, she leaned closer, drawn inexorably toward him, too.
“That one’s probably safe enough to say out loud. What would really be inappropriate, however, is if I were to tell you just how much I’d like to kiss you. Or cuddle you. Or, if you’re up for it, to f-u—”
She leaped forward with a suddenness that made him hope, for a fraction of a second, that she was going to stop his words with a kiss. She didn’t, opting instead to press her palm over his mouth. As this required her to stand so close that her breasts jutted against his chest, her face mere inches from his, it seemed like the next best thing.
“Your daughter is right down the hall,” she hissed.
Yes, and most likely pulling every dress she owned out of the closet to weigh the pros and cons of each one. Until one of them went in there and demanded that she make a decision or risk missing out on the tea party altogether, there would be no parting her from the exigencies of her wardrobe. Lila’s hand was still over his mouth, however, so he couldn’t offer her any of these assurances.
“You’re incorrigible. Honestly, if you can’t learn to control yourself, I’m going to have to…” Lila’s voice trailed off, her brow furrowed as she sought an ideal torture. Since there was little she could to do hurt him, short of handing the training over to one of her sisters and escaping from his life forever, he wasn’t too alarmed.
He was, however, highly intrigued when a look of cunning took over. It was evident in the slight narrowing of her eyes, the irrepressible dimple forming at the corner of her mouth.