Page 30 of Puppy Christmas

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.”