Jennifer Greene: Single Dad

It wasn’t as if anything had changed. There wasn’t a sane woman on the planet who’d take him and his brood on. And assuming he had the time and energy to pursue a woman—which he didn’t—he’d never pick a flighty seller-of-magic. His kids needed stability. Hell, so did he. But one look in those almond-shaped eyes had sparked a chemical combustion that woke up every masculine hormone. He likened it to trying to sleep when someone was hitting you over the head with a club.

Josh wasn’t going to do anything about it.

He just wasn’t going to lie to himself and pretend the feeling never happened. Irresistible impulses were a human frailty. Six-year-olds had an understandably difficult problem controlling them. A man his age—thank God—was smarter, older, wiser.

The safest thing to do was to put her straight, totally and completely, out of his mind.

And he did.

Uh-oh. It was a good thing that Ariel glanced up when the tinkling of the bell announced someone had entered the store. A second later, and she might have missed the urchin in the backward baseball cap and oversize Pittsburgh Steelers T-shirt.

She hadn’t seen Patrice in days—nor expected to—but temporarily she had her hands full. The entire morning had been an exercise in commotion and locomotion. Dot wasn’t due in until three. The phone refused to stop ringing; three browsers were wandering around; a woman lunch shopper was waiting at the cash register to buy earrings; and Ariel was stuck behind the jewelry counter with a gentleman who was sweating blood, trying to pick out a present for his wife.

The young blond man fingered a moonstone-and-mother-of-pearl pendant, which was about the ninetieth thing he’d considered, and shot her a helpless look. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

Since Ariel had never met his wife, she didn’t have a clue. “I think it’s beautiful myself, and I don’t see how you can go too wrong with that—not if she likes antiquey-type jewelry.”

“She loves all kinds of antiquey stuff. But this has to be special.” He confided, “We’ve been married six months today.”

By today’s divorce statistics, enduring six months together was probably a record, but Ariel had no time to give him an “attaboy.” The woman at the cash register was impatiently tapping her foot. The phone rang again. And normally Ariel would have been happy to spend all day with blondie—he was really a darling, just a little short in the decision-making department. But she felt uneasy about Killer being in the store alone, and the urchin had already disappeared from sight.

“I’ll tell you what,” she told the gentleman. “You think about this for a minute, while I take care of the lady up front, and I’ll be right back.” She jogged to the front, quickly dealt with the phone call, rang up the sale, bagged it, answered a fast question from the browsers on stained-glass prices and galloped back to her man.

En route, she caught a glimpse of the miniature brunette near the magic aisle, which was enough to relieve her mind.

She was delighted to see the child again. She also believed the little one’s ardent promises about never stealing again. It was just that she’d met few adults who could keep their promises—especially ardently made promises—and she wasn’t about to believe the six-year-old had mastered temptation. Thankfully, the magic tricks were all safely locked inside the glass cabinet. She really didn’t want to see the urchin get into any more trouble.

The gentleman eventually chose a black-button pearl bracelet and paid—bless him!—in cash; the earrings shopper left; and the three browsers meandered to the front with their stained-glass window ornaments. Once they were gone, the transition from commotion to total silence was astoundingly quick. Ariel hustled toward the magic aisle.

Killer’s nose was pressed to the glass. “Hi,” she said, when Ariel crouched down.

“Hi, back.”

“I have money today.” To illustrate proof, Killer pushed up the Pittsburgh Steelers T-shirt and dug in the pockets of her cherry-red shorts. Once all the pockets were turned inside out, five dollars in crumpled ones and change gradually accumulated on the counter.

“Wow. You have lots of money.”

“I want a magic trick. If that’s okay.” She hesitated. “I wasn’t sure if it was okay if I came back. Maybe you’re still mad at me.”

“I was never mad at you, Killer. You made a mistake. I’ve made a few mistakes myself. And you’re welcome to come in the store as often as you want, sweetie, as long as you have your dad’s permission.”

“He’s gone during the day. But I asked Mary Sue. She takes care of me, and she said yes. I can pretty much go anyplace as long as I don’t have to cross streets, and all I gotta do to get here is walk down the ravine and then up the sidewalk and then down the alley.”

Well, that settled the issue of permission, but the purchase of the magic trick was a more complicated business. The quest for the Holy Grail never took this long. The goal was to dazzle and bedazzle her older brothers, but finding a magic trick that Killer could handle and her older brothers couldn’t figure out took some experimenting.

They tried card tricks. They tried cutting-rope tricks. They made a quarter miraculously disappear in a glass of water, and a scarf miraculously change color, and a broken toothpick miraculously heal itself. By then, Killer was chattering six for a dozen. The topic strayed from magic to girl stuff. Important things, like how to braid hair. Dolls. Perfume. Best friends. How disgusting boys were—especially Tommy Bradley.

“He tried to kiss me,” Killer said with a scrunch of her nose. “What a yuck.”

“Tommy Bradley lacks a little technique, hmm?”

“He really gives me the creeps—don’t tell my dad about that, okay? My dad wouldn’t like it if a boy tried to kiss me. He already told me he’s not gonna let me date until I’m forty-five. As if I’d want to.”

“I won’t tell,” Ariel said gravely.

“I’m gonna grow my hair just like you. And wear earrings just like you. I just have to get a little older about the earrings, Dad says.”

Half the little one’s conversation was peppered with whatever her dad said and thought. Ariel couldn’t help but picture Josh surviving the incessant stream of girl talk. She’d never rationed smiles—or laughter—and she wasn’t that busy. It was easy to give the child the female companionship she was so poignantly lonesome for.

Killer had fresh French braids and the bagged-up quarter magic trick—discounted—when she skipped out of the store around three.

Fifteen minutes later, Ariel discovered the missing ruby-eyed dragon.

* * *

Lightning striped the black sky. Rain slashed down in gusty torrents. After five days of killing heat, the storm was more than welcome, but Josh was soaked through by the time he jogged from the Bronco through the alley and up the back metal stairs. When he reached the top, rain drizzled down his neck and matted his eyelashes. Still, he hesitated before knocking.

He really didn’t want to be here.

Killer had told him that Ariel lived over the shop, and lights shone through the pale curtains, fair evidence that she was at home. It was past eight. He’d been to his place, had dinner and messed around with the kids for as long as he could procrastinate this little chore. Any later than this, and an unexpected caller at night would probably scare a woman alone. Hell, an unexpected guy caller could probably scare her now, but at least eight o’clock was still reasonably early.

He just really didn’t want to knock on that door.

Rain sluiced through his hair and rivered off his denim jacket. Impatiently he set his jaw, squared his shoulders. And firmly back-knuckled the door.