“I’m gonna have to say no to that,” Ethan said, and Claire snorted another little laugh as the dog crawled into her lap.
“What is he?”
“A schnoodle.” Claire’s eyes lifted to his. “Schnauzer/poodle. We got him...” He cleared his throat. “Three years ago.”
Still petting the dog, Claire quietly said, “Juliette really keeps trying to fix you up?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out.
“I assume you’ve asked her to back off?”
“Repeatedly. Only to get this look like I’m speaking Klingon—”
“Breakfast’s ready!” Jules called, and Claire shoved to her feet again.
“I could talk to her, if you want—”
“I can handle my own daughter, thanks,” Ethan snapped, only to realize how dumb that sounded, considering what he’d said not two seconds before. A realization Claire obviously picked up on, judging from the damn twinkle in her eyes.
“Yeah, well, as someone who used to be a teenage girl I can tell you they’re very good at ignoring what they don’t want to hear. Especially from their fathers. And since this doesn’t only concern you, I do reserve the right to set things straight from my end.”
Jeez, the woman was worse than his daughter. But Ethan also guessed she had Juliette’s ear, which apparently he didn’t. At least not about this.
“Fine. Do whatever you think is best. But for now...let’s just get this breakfast over with, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Claire said with a quick smile before following him to the kitchen, and Ethan pushed out another sigh that, God willing, in a half hour this—she—would be nothing more than a tiny blip on the old radar screen.
Because it’d taken the entire three years since Merri’s death to fine-tune the playbook that held his family, his life, together...and damned if he was gonna let some curly-headed cutie distract him from it now.
Claire ducked into the main floor half bath as the landline rang: Jules had already picked up by the time Ethan reached the kitchen, deftly cradling it between her jaw and her shoulder as she served up omelets and fried potatoes, looking so much like her mother Ethan’s heart knocked.
“Hey, Baba—” The spatula hovering over the skillet, she went stock-still. “Oh, no...that sucks! Ick....Yeah, I’ll tell him....No, we’ll work it out,” she said as Ethan motioned for her to give him the phone. But she only brandished the spatula, shaking her head. “Of course I’m sure. You need us for anything?...Okay, then....We’ll talk later.” She redocked the phone, glancing at Ethan as she finished dishing up breakfast. “Baba’s got a tummy bug, she can’t take Bella to dance class.”
He silently swore. Right or wrong, he depended on Merri’s parents to sometimes fill the gap, a role they both seemed to relish. And it’d been Carmela’s idea to put the little jumping bean in ballet class to burn off at least some of her boundless energy. Kid could run ten circles around her brothers. Speaking of whom... “The boys have their game at ten, I can’t do both.”
“Another argument for letting me get my license sooner rather than later—”
“Forget it. Maybe I could get Pop to take her—”
“PopPop in a room full of baby ballerinas. Yeah, I can totally see that. Hey—maybe Miss Jacobs could do it?”
“Maybe Miss Jacobs could do what?” Claire said as she returned, scrubbing her obviously still-damp hands across her butt.
Ethan looked away. “And I’m sure she has better things to do with her morning.”
“And you always say, Dad, it never hurts to ask. Right? Anyway, sit, both of you, everything’s ready. So Bella has ballet this morning,” she went on as Claire sat, “and my grandmother usually takes her, ’cause the boys have football or soccer or whatever—it’s always something. Only she’s sick and can’t do it. So I said maybe you could. It’s not far, right over on Main—”
“Omigosh—not Miss Louise’s?”
“Yeah. You know it?”
“Know it? I took classes there for more than ten years! She’s still alive?”
“Barely, but yeah—”
And naturally, Bella picked that moment to bounce into the kitchen in her pink tights and black leotard. “Is Baba here yet? ’Cause I’m all ready, see? And can I have a piece of bacon?”
“Help yourself,” Jules said, holding the plate out for her sister as Ethan said, “You’re not supposed to leave for an hour yet. But in any case—”
“Your grandmother’s not feeling well,” Claire said, chomping the end off her own piece of bacon, “so I’m going to take you.”
Ethan’s brows slammed together. “What?”
“My morning’s free, so why not? Besides, I’ve always been a sucker for trips down memory lane. So what do you say, Isabella?”
That got the Very Concerned Face. “But I don’t know you. And Baba always takes me for lunch afterward.”
“It’s okay, Belly,” Jules said, “Ms. Jacobs is one of my teachers, she’s cool—”
“And maybe Juliette could go with us, if that would make you feel better,” Claire said, adding, at the teen’s nod, “and we can still go to lunch after.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Then she grinned at her breakfast. “Even though I probably won’t be hungry for hours. This looks amazing, Juliette.”
“Thanks,” she said, then shot Ethan a grin that sent a brief, sharp pain shooting through his skull.
Nostalgia swelled through Claire the instant Isabella shoved open the door to the storefront studio, releasing a cloud of steam heat permeated with the tang of rosin and sweat, Miss Louise’s too-sweet perfume. For her entire childhood, this was the scent of Saturday mornings, and it made her smile.
“Um...we can’t stay,” Juliette said after Bella raced into a dressing room overflowing with squealing little girls.
“Oh, I know.” Because the presence of parents and such, except at recitals, tended to either make little Pavlova wannabes painfully self-conscious or turn them into obnoxious show-offs. “I just want to say hello. For old time’s sake.”
“Meet me outside, then?”
“You bet.”
Because when an opportunity plunks into your lap, you take it. Of course, Ethan could simply be misreading Juliette’s natural friendliness for machinations of the matchmaking kind. Certainly the idea had never occurred to Claire, even after the girl invited her for breakfast. But if Ethan’s hunch was right, then the sooner this was all put to rest, the better. For everyone’s sake.
Especially Ethan’s, Claire thought as the girl wandered off to window-shop, and Claire remembered the pressure Mom’s well-meaning friends had put on her after Claire’s dad died to get out there and date again. As well as her mother emphatically telling them to mind their own business, Norman was irreplaceable, end of discussion.
So obviously that’s how it was for some people—you only got one shot at love, and when it was over, it was over. True, Ethan was a lot younger, and she knew widowers were more likely to remarry than widows. But still. Bad enough the poor guy had to endure the merciless flirtations of every unattached female teacher at Hoover. So if Juliette