Marc groaned, and Fiona elbowed him.
“I think it’s nice.”
“You’ve never sat for a Delacroix family photo session,” he said.
“Hi, Fiona,” his mother said when they joined the group. “And here’s my birthday girl.” She gave both of them a hug.
“I’m ready for you, Mrs. Delacroix,” the photographer said. “And Marc, is it?”
Mom had never met anyone she didn’t immediately consider a friend. Except Fiona, and she’d more than made up for that since their rocky beginning.
“I’d like you in the center back with Pastor Connor, Paul and Rhys.” The guys took their places. “Now your sisters and Fiona in front of you.”
“No,” Fiona demurred. “It’s a family picture. I’ll have one of Stella and me taken afterward.”
“That’s fine,” his mother said, “but you’re family, and I’d like you in this one.”
“I would, too.” Marc kept his voice low, for Fiona’s ears only.
“But what if—” she started to protest.
“There are no ifs. You’re family.”
Fiona’s face went soft and dewy, making his heart swell with longing. His family. If he didn’t mess it up.
The photographer finished.
“Now, I’d like one of each of you and your families alone,” his mother said.
Marc wasn’t the only one who groaned this time, but they all obliged. Marc and Fiona and Stella went last, with Fiona hesitating again.
“Go ahead,” Paul said. “If my lummox of an older brother botches things later, I can Photoshop him out, and you’ll have a nice portrait of you and Stella.”
Marc fisted and released his hands. No. He wasn’t going to mess anything up. He’d learned his lesson with Cate and Stella. Besides, there was nothing concrete between him and Fiona to ruin—yet. He took his place next to Fiona, whom the photographer had already positioned with Stella on her lap.
“Put your arm around Fiona,” the photographer said.
Marc held his breath and slid his arm along the back of the chair behind Fiona. There was no spark this time, but rather a very right feeling that spoke of a possibility of a new beginning. He drank in the beauty beside him, seeing so many of Fiona’s features in Stella. Anyone who didn’t know them could take Fiona for Stella’s mother.
He tucked that piece of information into his heart. There was no way he was going to mess this up.
Chapter Eleven
“Ha!” Several hours later, Fiona aced the last hole of the miniature golf course set up in the Armory at two under par. She leaned on her golf club, blew on her fingernails and rubbed them on her shirt.
“Are we a little full of ourselves?” Marc asked, completing the hole in three shots.
“Not at all. That puts me two points ahead for the game.” She scrutinized his grinning face. “You didn’t let me win, did you?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Excuse me? I grew up in a household with four sisters. I know the power of women. I don’t let them do anything. I simply try to hold my own. And it isn’t easy.”
“Poor guy. I feel for you.”
“To be serious. You’ve got good form...uh, golfing form.”
“I knew what you meant.” That was one of the many things she liked about Marc. He was always straight with her. None of the hidden meanings she’d grown up with in her family. She checked the time on her phone. “Looks like we’re going to have to bag the ice-skating.”
“You don’t sound disappointed,” Marc said.
She was and she wasn’t. Gliding around the outdoor rink, Marc’s arm around her waist to guide her, had real appeal. A more likely reality would be Marc pulling her up repeatedly from a heap on the ice.
“I am a little, but I had a lot of fun spending the time with Stella, getting our faces painted and watching her in the bouncy house. And with Luc and the twins trying the Wii Dance Dance Revolution.”
“She and Luc were a riot.”
“Can I admit something to you?”
“You can admit anything you want.”
“I kind of liked that Stella didn’t want to go with the twins, that she wanted to stay with us.”
“Me, too.” Marc’s eyes darkened in a way that did funny things to her heart. “Even though it cut down on our time together.”
“All right, guys.” Claire appeared out of nowhere. “If you two are through making goo-goo eyes at each other, why don’t you turn your equipment in and join the rest of us for supper?”
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Marc made a show of looking around, as if trying to find someone.
“Back off,” Claire said. “Nick is here talking with Dad and Paul.”
Fiona’s knees wobbled at the teasing. She steeled them with reality. His words were simply lighthearted family dynamics. Weren’t they? Or had her instincts about Marc’s interest in her been right? She so rarely acknowledged her instincts that she wasn’t sure.
“I need to get Stella’s birthday gift from the car,” Fiona said. “I want to see her open it.”
Claire nodded. “Give Marc your keys. He can get it and meet us over by the picnic tables.”
“It’s in my car anyway,” he said. “Fiona came with me.”
“I see,” Claire said knowingly.
“I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” Marc strode off, leaving Fiona to flush.
“I was sure Mom had said you were driving yourself.”
Marc’s mother and sisters talked about them? This was one part of being a member of a large family that wasn’t so warm and fuzzy.
“My car wouldn’t start. I caught Marc as he and Stella were leaving.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, Nick?” Fiona deflected Claire’s comment. “As in Nick who we work with?”
“Yeah, we’re kind of on-again, off-again. More friends than anything else. Mom saw him and invited him to eat with us. But we’re not talking about me and Nick. We’re talking about you and my little brother.”
“Little brother?” Fiona pictured Marc as he’d been a minute ago, standing next to Claire and towering over her.
“Younger brother by ten minutes, and I never let him forget it. Moving on—he’s got it bad for you.”
“We’re just friends, like you and Nick.”
“I don’t think so. Since you came into his life, he’s been more alive than I’ve seen him in a good long time, since before Cate got sick.”
“Grieving takes time, has stages. It’s different for everyone.” Fiona paraphrased what the family court counselor had told them when they’d seen her following their mother’s death during the custody proceedings.
“You do have feelings for him, beyond him being Stella’s father?”
This kind of question usually raised her shield against sharing her personal family business. Except Claire was family. Fiona gulped a breath. “I do.”
“Does he know?”
“I haven’t told him in so many words.”
“Then he doesn’t know,” Claire stated. “Tell him. When it comes to personal things, he’s not as confident as he appears. But promise me one thing. If you’re not serious, let him know that, too. Don’t hurt him.”
Don’t hurt him? “I won’t. Not intentionally.” She had too much to lose, including Claire’s friendship, she suspected. Fiona couldn’t remember the last close girlfriend she’d had besides Mairi.
“I don’t have much experience with men,” Fiona admitted. “I’ve been too busy, first with school and Mairi and then with my career, to pursue any serious relationships. Maybe I should keep it casual. Maybe we should just be friends.”
“No, I didn’t mean to warn you off. If you have feelings for my brother, go for it. I think you can make him happy.”
Could she? She’d
tried so hard, but had she ever made anyone happy?
“Feena!” Stella shouted as they approached the Delacroix family members milling around two picnic tables pushed together. The little girl pulled away from Amelia’s handhold and ran through the light crowd to Fiona and Claire.
Fiona caught Stella and lifted her high in the air, making the little girl giggle. “What did your daddy and I say about holding on to someone’s hand?”
The reprimand seemed to pop out of its own volition. Fiona’s gaze shot to Stella’s upturned face, and her tensed muscles relaxed. Her smile was just as wide as it had been. Fiona positioned her on her hip.
“Daddy holds hands so we no get lost.”
Fiona stilled and hugged Stella to her. That pretty much summed things up. Fiona didn’t feel lost when she had Marc and Stella beside her, and she was going to do everything she could to keep them there—for all their sakes.
“’Nuff hugs. Down. Where’s Daddy?”
Fiona placed Stella on the floor in front of her and took her hand. “He’ll be right here. He had to go to the car for something.”
“Birthday present.”
“Yes, and remember, no opening it until after we have supper and cake.”
“I ’member. Let’s eat.”
“Slow down,” Claire said. “We’ll eat as soon as your daddy gets here.”
The three of them walked to the tables, which Marc’s mother had loaded with a variety of foods from the various vendors. A tall chocolate frosted cake with a number three candle on top stood front and center.
Fiona approached Marc’s mother. “Did you have any trouble finding the cake?” she asked.
“No.” Marc’s mother tilted her head.
“I mean one that Stella can eat, that doesn’t have...”
His mother’s expression clouded at the same moment Fiona sensed Marc step behind her. She drew in and released a cleansing breath. She had to let her hypervigilance down, trust others, trust God as she was learning through Bridges. If she didn’t let go of her old misplaced beliefs, she’d fail Marc, Stella and their family, as she’d failed her sisters.
A warm hand squeezed her shoulder and she gave Marc a crooked smile over her shoulder.
“No problem at all finding a cake,” Marc’s mother answered belatedly. “Now everyone take their seats so we can say grace. We want to have time for the cake and ice cream before the fireworks start.”
Fiona and Marc burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Inside joke,” he said, gazing into Fiona’s eyes with a warmth that turned her to mush.
“Come on, sit,” Stella commanded, grabbing Fiona and Marc’s hands and pulling them to an open spot at one of the tables.
Fiona slung her legs over the bench and sat, turning and reaching for Stella. “Need help up?”
“No, move. Daddy sit here.” Stella pointed to the right of Fiona as she scrambled into the space on Fiona’s left. “Big, bigger, biggest,” she said.
Marc fit himself into the space Fiona had made, lining his leg up against hers. “I guess we know what the preschool class at The Kids Place studied this week.”
“You’ve got it,” Andie said from across the table. “And on this side of the table, we have small—” she pointed at herself “—smaller and smallest.” She pointed at Aimee and Robbie beside her.
“No, Aunt Dee,” Stella said, “you’re big.”
Everyone laughed as Fiona marveled at how much more at ease Stella was with Marc’s family now, and how at ease she was.
“John, will you say grace?” Marc’s mother said.
Marc enclosed her hand in his, and Fiona took Stella’s.
“Dear Lord, first I want to thank you for this wonderful day and having all of our family here together...”
Fiona listened to Marc’s father’s words flow over her, leaving a shelter of peace around her.
“And let us accept Your will,” Marc’s father finished.
Fiona glanced through her eyelashes from Marc to Stella before adding her “amen.”
* * *
“Happy birthday to you!” Oblivious to the people around them, Marc’s family finished their enthusiastic birthday serenade to Stella.
“Now, blow out the candle.”
Poof. Stella extinguished the flame and clapped her hands. “Present.” She pointed at the wrapped gift Fiona had taken out of the bag and placed on the table in front of her.
“Yes, you can open Fiona’s present,” Marc said.
The rest of his family began pulling gifts from under the table. When his mother had said they’d celebrate with a cake here, he hadn’t thought she meant a full-fledged birthday party. He had Stella’s present, a tricycle, at the house to give her when they got home. Not that he would have lugged it here, but it would have been nice to know. Or had his mother told him? He’d been so wrapped up in work this week, he wasn’t sure.
Fiona moved the gift in front of Stella, and she attacked the wrapping with an expression of anticipation that was duplicated on Fiona’s face. A feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time stirred in his chest.
“Elsa,” Stella squealed.
“Yes, it’s her castle,” Fiona said, her eyes bright.
Stella scrambled onto Fiona’s lap and handed him the plastic-encased toy. “Open, Daddy.”
“First, tell Fiona thank you.”
“Fank you, Feena.”
“You’re very welcome.” Fiona’s face still beamed.
“Now, I think it would be better if we waited until we’re home to open Elsa’s castle. We don’t want to lose any pieces.”
“Please,” Stella begged.
“Go ahead, let her,” his mother said. “It’s not as if we have anything else to do until the fireworks start. You can take the other presents home if she doesn’t get around to opening them.”
Marc bristled at his mother contradicting him, and he did have something to do before the fireworks. While he’d waited for Stella and Fiona to finish having matching daisies painted on their cheeks, he’d run into the owner of one of the area apple orchards that he’d been trying to arrange a meeting with. He’d recognized the guy from the orchard’s website and approached him. They made plans to meet near here in five minutes. Marc had figured that would give him plenty of time to be with Stella and Fiona for the fireworks.
He fidgeted on the hard bench. “I ran into the owner of Tripp’s Orchards and told him I’d meet with him about now. I’ve been trying to connect with him about the orchard becoming a supplier for La Table Frais.”
His mother drew her lips into a thin line.
“Go ahead,” Fiona said. “I have you covered.”
“Thanks.” Marc waited for the brick sitting on his chest to lift, but it didn’t completely. “I’ll be back in plenty of time for the fireworks.” He rose and stepped behind the table bench.
The smile Fiona gave him over her shoulder chipped a sizable chunk off the brick.
“Hand me that gift,” his brother Paul said, his pocket jackknife already out to cut the plastic encasing the toy.
Stella’s continued squeals about the toy turned Marc’s feet to lead as he plodded toward the meeting place.
* * *
The crack of fireworks exploding outside the Armory after his meeting wiped out the euphoria of its success. He and the orchard owner had not finished in plenty of time to make the start of the display. Marc grabbed his coat from the coat check and pulled it on, making his way outside as quickly as he could without pushing people out of the way. Stella’s only other experience with fireworks last Independence Day had terrified her, and he wasn’t there with her. He couldn’t remember if he’d told his mother or Fiona. He’d talked with Stella this morning about the fireworks and had expected to be with her when they started.
&nb
sp; He paused outside, listening for Stella’s frantic crying during the break between rockets. He didn’t hear anything but the hum of the crowd talking. Scanning the area, he found his family front and center on the folding chairs arranged on the lawn. He rushed over.
“Daddy, fire!” Stella shouted as he made his way down the row to an empty seat next to Fiona. He searched Stella’s face. There wasn’t a tear in sight.
“Stella, she’s okay?” He caught his breath and dropped into the chair. “I took her to the Fourth of July display last summer at the park near our old house, and it scared her so much we had to leave. I barely had her calmed down by the time we got home.”
“She was frightened at first,” his mother said, “but Fiona calmed her down.”
“Thanks, but I should have been here,” he said, regret lacing his words.
“All I did was distract her from the noise by pointing out the colors.”
Another rocket exploded in the sky, and Marc tensed.
“Red, blue, green,” Stella said.
His tension drained in increments with each color his daughter named. “I never thought of that.”
“She probably didn’t know her colors then, so it might not have worked,” Fiona said.
Her words relieved most of his self-reproach that Fiona had been there for Stella and not him. He slid his arm across the back of Fiona’s seat, curved his fingers around her shoulder and realized with a jolt that Fiona was his complement. The helpmate he’d thought he’d never find again, whom he hadn’t even been looking for.
He bent his head to her ear. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered, pausing for a moment to breathe in the faint floral scent of her hair. “Not only for Stella. For me, too.”
Fiona leaned toward him, her other shoulder warm against his. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
“More,” Stella said after the finale finished.
“Sorry, sweetpea. That’s it,” he said.
She stuck out her bottom lip.
“We have an important job to do.”
A Mom for His Daughter Page 14