What the Single Dad Wants...

by Marie Ferrarella

  “You have your cell phone?”

  “In my pocket, Dad.” She tapped the slight bulge in the pocket of her candy-striped shorts.

  Brandon nodded, casting about for a way to stall and squeeze out an extra minute or two longer with his daughter. “Good. And your charger? You didn’t forget your charger, did you?”

  “In my suitcase,” she answered patiently. “Next to the whistle you gave me to blow in case I see a snake charging at me.”

  He’d have to be deaf to miss what the tone in her voice was saying. “Okay, maybe I’m being a little over-protective—” he allowed.

  Victoria flashed him a very knowing, tolerant grin. “You think?”

  Taking her suitcase off the bed for her, he slung his free arm around her shoulders as they made their way out of the room. “But you’re the only daughter I have and it would be such a pain breaking in a brand-new one. Try to come back in one piece for me, okay?”

  She pretended to take that as a serious request. “I’ll do my best, Dad.” And then, as they came to the top of the stairs, she looked at him and softened. “It’s going to be okay,” she told him as if she was the parent and he the child who needed reassuring.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, so proud of her it hurt.

  They went down the stairs. Anastasia deliberately let them have a moment together and waited in another room until she could say goodbye.

  Brandon turned toward his daughter as she reached the bottom step. “Victoria?”

  She checked her purse one last time for the new essentials in her life: light pink lipstick and suntan lotion. “Yes, Dad?”

  “You don’t think I’ve been an unavailable father, do you?”

  Victoria glanced up from her search, snapping her purse closed. She did her best not to laugh. “Dad, if you were any more available, I’d have to run away from home.”

  He saw a very real parallel in her reply. “Is that why you’re…?”

  Because she was his daughter, she knew where this was going. They had a very strong bond and often had the same thoughts.

  “No! Dad, you’re the best dad in the whole world. I’m a really lucky kid. You’ve always been there for me and I’ve never felt the lack of anything. I have no complaints. Except—”

  “Aha, you do have a complaint.” Here it came. He braced himself.

  When she spoke, she didn’t say anything remotely close to what he was expecting. “I think you need a girl friend.”

  Stunned, he stared at her. “What?”

  Victoria explained patiently, “Dad, you’re not getting any younger and neither am I. I’m going to start dating, going away to college. You need another hobby other than me.” She sighed and gazed at him. “How about Isabelle? She seems very nice. Gemma likes her and you know how hard she is to please. And I think Isabelle’s great.”

  Just then, a car horn beeped three times, then twice. Victoria grabbed her suitcase. “That’s Marisol’s mom. I’ve gotta go. Tell me you’ll at least think about what I just said,” she implored.

  He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about Victoria dating or going away to college. It was hard enough for him to let her go for a sleepover for a single night, much less a semester…or even longer. But for her peace of mind, he murmured dutifully, “I’ll think about it.”

  Victoria rose up on her toes and brushed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. Now, you’re not going to worry, right?”

  “Right,” he muttered, his heart clearly not in the lie he was parroting back.

  In a rare display of sensitivity, Anastasia had deliberately remained out of sight in order to give her son and granddaughter time together. But now, as if right on cue, the actress swept into the foyer, her electric blue caftan billowing about her, and encircled her granddaughter with her arms to give her a huge hug.

  “Have a good time, Victoria. Learn a craft for me,” she instructed.

  Victoria flashed a grin at her grandmother as she extricated herself from the hug. “Will do, Gemma,” she promised.

  Isabelle had been hovering just within the family room, waiting until Brandon and Anastasia were finished. She didn’t want to interrupt a family moment, but she didn’t want to miss an opportunity to say goodbye to the young girl, or to tell her to have fun.

  Not that, Isabelle judged, she needed instruction for that. Victoria, an obvious product of her father’s loving care and understanding, was the most levelheaded young person she had ever encountered. Love did that, she thought. Made a person strong and able to face anything.

  In a way, she envied Victoria her secure upbringing.

  “Have fun, Victoria,” Isabelle said, joining the small circle.

  “I will!” Victoria responded with enthusiasm, eager to get going. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Isabelle and took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Take care of Dad for me.”

  Surprised by the request, Isabelle drew back and looked at Brandon’s daughter. “I will.”

  The answer came out automatically because taking care of people was both her vocation and her mission in life. A beat later, she realized how that must have sounded and hoped that Brandon hadn’t heard what Victoria had said to her.

  “Would it offend your independent sensibilities if I carried your suitcase to the car?” Brandon asked her.

  Victoria pretended that granting permission was a huge concession on her part. “I suppose so.” Her mouth curved, giving her away.

  Father and daughter went out the door. To Isabelle’s surprise, Anastasia made no attempt to follow. She remained in the foyer. Her sniffling drew Isabelle’s attention back to her.

  “Why is there never a tissue around when you need one?” Anastasia demanded, annoyed.

  Isabelle dug into her pocket and produced a small packet of tissues and silently passed it to the woman.

  Taking the packet, Anastasia sniffled again. “Should have known you’d be like a Girl Scout. Always prepared.” She made the pronouncement almost longingly, as if she thought self-sufficiency had its appeal.

  “I think those are the Boy Scouts,” Isabelle corrected gently.

  “We’re not supposed to discriminate these days,” Anastasia replied, waving a hand in wide, concentric circles in the air. She blew her nose, then wadded up the tissue. Looking just a tad uncertain, she slanted a glance in Isabelle’s direction. “Victoria’ll be all right, won’t she?”

  Isabelle was surprised the woman asked her that question. Anastasia Del Vecchio always projected such a strong, confident image on and off the screen. Seeing this vulnerable, uncertain side to the woman took her aback. It also, Isabelle thought, made the woman exceedingly human in her eyes.

  “I think that, interestingly enough, out of the three of you, Victoria’s the one who is the most ‘all right.’” The look in Anastasia’s eyes told her that the woman struggled very hard not to cry. Very human, Isabelle thought. “You and your son did a great job raising her. She’s mature and secure and very, very levelheaded. More than I was at her age.”

  Anastasia was instantly her old self, waving away the assessment. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Isabelle. I think you were born old.”

  Isabelle examined the comment. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” she said, bemused.

  Over the past few weeks, Anastasia had grown exceedingly fond of her physical therapist. Setting aside her bombastic persona for a moment, she took Isabelle’s hand in hers and patted it.

  “It was meant as one, dear.” Releasing her hand again, she glanced back toward the room she’d been in. “Well, I think I’ll go lie down and absorb all this. Saying goodbye has taken a lot out of me.”

  Isabelle smiled to herself. The drama queen had returned. In this case, it was a good sign.

  “Fine. I think we’re about done for the day, anyway.” She regarded the woman warmly. “You deserve some time off for good behavior.”

  “You’re only saying that because you want to get ready for your nigh
t out,” the actress responded intuitively, giving her a knowing look.

  “Well, having more than five minutes to throw on a dress and put my makeup on would be nice, yes,” Isabelle agreed.

  Anastasia paused to regard her for a moment, as if to scrutinize her more closely.

  “Oh, my dear, you’re still so very young—don’t you know you don’t need any help?” As she said the words, there was a note of longing in the actress’s voice for the years that had gone by.

  There were times when she felt old and other times when she felt invisible. Now was not the time to argue about either. “I guess I am young at that,” Isabelle agreed, then winked playfully at Anastasia. “Almost as young as you are.”

  Anastasia laughed. She knew that Isabelle was neither pandering to her ego, nor being sarcastic. Her words were tendered with affection. As a rule, the actress did not like many women, feeling, instead a sharp sense of competition whenever she was in the company of another female. Such was not the case with Isabelle. She genuinely liked her.

  Moreover, she hoped that Brandon would have the good sense to snap her up before some other man did.

  “You’ll do, Isabelle Sinclair,” the actress told her, not bothering to appear regally austere, an image she ordinarily projected for the benefit of those outside the parameters of her own family. “You’ll do.”

  Just as Anastasia left the foyer, Isabelle heard the front door behind her open and close again. Turning around, she saw Brandon standing just inside the doorway. In her opinion, the writer had looked a lot happier than he did right at this moment.

  Casting about for something comforting to say, she waited for him to speak first. She didn’t want to intrude into his private moment.

  Brandon sighed deeply as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, she’s gone.”

  “She’s going to have a wonderful time, Brandon,” Isabelle assured him. “Someone with Victoria’s level-headedness needs to be able to kick back a little, have some wholesome fun. Otherwise, I have a feeling she might just spend the whole summer reading books and never even venturing outside the house.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re right. Camp was a good idea. She’ll have fun.” A small sigh escaped, and he looked as though he had a momentary lapse of control. “She probably won’t even miss—home,” he said, substituting another word for the one he meant at the last minute.

  Not that he fooled her at all. Isabelle struggled not to smile, even though she thought it rather sweet that he was so protective of his daughter. Not for the first time, she thought how lucky Victoria was to have such a relaxed relationship with her father. He was both her friend and her protector. Most of the time, you got either one or the other.

  And sometimes, she thought with a pang, as in her case, you got neither.

  “I’m sure she’ll miss ‘home,’” she told him with the proper emphasis on the last word. “But you know, it’s also nice to have the opportunity to miss ‘home,’ instead of always hanging around ‘home’ and not knowing what a day without being ‘home’ is like.”

  By the time she took a breath, it was utterly obvious just what she meant each time she’d said “home.” He hadn’t really been trying to be subtle when he’d switched his words at the last minute.

  Brandon frowned. “Are you through?”

  Rather than answer him, she asked, “Do you want to cancel our dinner date?”

  He had no idea what one thing had to do with the other. If he lived to be a hundred and twenty, he just knew he’d never understand how the female mind worked. “No.”

  Isabelle smiled, relieved. She really liked the idea of going out with him. To her, this was an unofficial “date.”

  “Then I’m through.” She began to walk away and head for the stairs.

  He sighed, shaking his head. “I always thought that under standing women would get easier the older I got.”

  Isabelle stopped and turned around. She was not about to put herself out on a limb and assume something. When he said nothing further to follow up on his statement, she prodded, “And?”

  “And, I was incredibly wrong,” Brandon confessed. “It doesn’t get any easier. Matter of fact, it gets harder.”

  Men were always saying that, she thought. But that was because they liked having their mystery plots complicated and their women simple. It didn’t work like that. Smiling, she said, “We’re not so hard to understand.”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to fathom the meaning being her words, and then, when he realized she was serious, he laughed.

  “Ha!”

  Isabelle continued as if he hadn’t interjected anything. “We respond to kindness and honesty—and a sense of humor never hurt the situation.”

  There he begged to differ. “Unless I laugh at a dress you wear.”

  Isabelle inclined her head. He was right there. She stood corrected. “Unless you laugh at a dress I wear,” she agreed. The moment she echoed his phrase, she remembered. “Speaking of which—”

  If she didn’t get started soon, she wouldn’t be ready by the time he’d indicated that he wanted to leave.

  “Laughing or dress?” Brandon asked her, a smile curving the corners of his mouth.

  “Dress. I have to,” she reminded him, ready to race up the stairs.

  In place of the easy smile, a seductive, sexy one slipped over his lips as Brandon thought of the way she’d been last night. He couldn’t remember if he’d told her how beautiful she was wearing only a sigh. He knew he’d meant to.

  “Only if you want to,” he told her.

  “I want to,” she answered with a laugh. Deep down inside, she was flattered by the look in his eyes. Flattered and aroused. “I have no intention of being arrested for nudity and public indecency.”

  “There was nothing indecent about your nudity,” he assured her, sounding so serious when he said it that, just like that, her heart was in serious jeopardy of brimming over.

  “Still,” she told him as she headed toward the stairs a little more slowly, “I don’t think you need that kind of a news-grabbing headline attached to you. It’s not exactly the kind of attention the father of a preteen likes to have drawn to him.”

  She could feel his eyes peeling away the layers of her clothing as he regarded her.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I might be willing to risk it, given the right woman,” he told her with such a straight face, she didn’t know if he was being serious or not.

  But, whether or not he was serious, she had always been the sensible one in any gathering numbering two or more. That being the case again, Isabelle patted his handsome face and declared, “Well, I’m not willing,” just before hurrying up the stairs.

  She was only halfway up when he called to her, and she stopped again.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  She could have gotten completely lost in his smile. He had to have the most soul-affecting one she’d ever encountered. It took her a moment to locate her brain. “For?”

  He was honest with her, something he discovered he could be. Something that hadn’t been possible for him with anyone else outside of the two women already in his life. With Isabelle, he could be himself and not worry that she could use it against him, or criticize him. Or laugh when he didn’t want her to.

  “For pulling me out of a dark place just now,” he told her.

  “Don’t mention it,” she told him cheerfully. “It’s all included in your mother’s bill. It’s listed right under ‘cheerfulness on demand.’ By the way, the first fifty times are free,” she added with a wink he found tantalizingly sexy.

  His daughter’s parting words to him echoed in his head.

  “Maybe you were on to something after all, Victoria,” he murmured under his breath.

  Reaching the top, Isabelle turned around one last time. She thought she heard him say something, but she wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t her imagination. “You say something?” she asked.

  He
looked up at her innocently. “Nope.”

  Taking the stairs two steps at a time with his long gait, he would have caught up to her—if she hadn’t started running.

  Isabelle made it to the guest bedroom before he could make a grab for her.

  Her laughter as she eluded him wrapped itself around him, teasing him. Making him yearn at the same time that it made him happy just to be alive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “This wasn’t a good idea.”

  Brandon sounded so solemn when he said it, Isabelle braced herself for what didn’t want to hear.

  She desperately scrambled to sound upbeat, fervently hoping to hold off whatever it was he was going to say to her for a little while longer.

  “What wasn’t?” she asked brightly, then supplied a benign answer before Brandon could respond. “Dinner out?”

  The restaurant had seemed pleasant enough, but nothing about either the decor or the menu set the place apart. It would either require some sort of a makeover with an interesting motif, or a whole host of friends frequenting the premises nightly in order to keep the new restaurant out of the red until it found its identity.

  He looked at Isabelle for a second, absorbing her answer. “What? No, that was okay. I’m talking about ‘this.’” To underscore his point, he waved one hand about. Then, in case his point still didn’t come across, he put a fine point on it. “Dancing.”

  After they’d had their meal and Brandon had gone to exchange a few words with his friend and wish the man luck with his new venture, she’d impulsively suggested that they go dancing. The restaurant, as it so happened, was only several blocks away from a club where they actually played music that couples could hear and dance to rather than the mind-numbing throbbing which supposedly passed for music in a great many of the more popular clubs.

  As she recalled, Brandon had agreed readily enough. There’d been no arm-twisting required on her part, or even anything beyond a suggestion.

  Obviously, between that time and now, Brandon had changed his mind.

  Why?