“Oh, thank you, Miss Penny!” She turned to Carson. “See my pretty book, Daddy?”
Watching him admire the simple sketchpad his daughter held, she nearly threw her arms around both of them. She wanted to hold them close and never let them go. But she couldn’t. Today was about fun, but it was also goodbye. In a few days, she’d return to New York, staying there just long enough to ring in the New Year and pack up her belongings. One of the theme parks wanted her for a third audition and fitting. She expected she’d receive a formal job offer at that time. She might see them again, but it would be different. They would be casual friends, there to enjoy the rides and perhaps share a meal or two with her. Under no circumstances would there be bed sharing.
She needed to protect her heart. Today was the last day she’d allow herself to be open to Eloise. It was too late where Carson was concerned. She understood that every step she took physically closer to him added another string connecting her heart to his. The severing would hurt more than when her harness broke all those months ago.
• • •
Carson let Penelope lead the way. She had planned this trip and he’d tagged along for selfish reasons. It hurt, watching her interact with Eloise. She let Eloise’s interests guide them, reading aloud about each piece of art that captured his daughter’s attention. She pointed out small details about fabric folds and named the different poses in each image. After a leisurely turn through the packed crowds of the Degas exhibit, they entered the modern art gallery.
He wanted to stay angry with her. It would simplify his life since she planned to abandon him after doing the unthinkable and making him feel alive. He hoped today he’d find a new reason to dislike her, but so far she’d been nothing but kind and thoughtful. Heck, she’d been patient listening to Eloise invent songs in the car, even asking her to teach them to her. Listening to Penelope sing about abandoned cars on the side of the road, he imagined her singing lullabies to a very lucky child. He nearly ran off the road when he realized the vision took place in his house with him standing in the doorway. He couldn’t think about what a great mother and partner she would be. It was just another way of setting himself up for heartache.
They chatted amicably, sticking to safe topics like the art in front of them and the weather. He tried not to think about how that dress made her eyes bluer than ever or how it draped across her like a second skin, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew it wasn’t right, but every time she slipped a step or two ahead of him, he took in the rear view, trying to determine if she wore underwear or not. She guided them to the museum’s permanent collection of impressionists just outside the Degas exhibit.
She touched his shoulder to get his attention. Her fingertip grazed the skin on his neck, making his skin flush with anticipation of further touches. It wasn’t fair. Why had he set himself up for this torture knowing she was, in essence, already gone?
“Excuse me. I see an acquaintance of mine. I simply must go say hi.” She turned to Eloise. “Make sure you stay with your daddy while I talk to a friend. Let me give you the colored pencils now so you can draw your favorite picture in this room for me.”
His little girl’s eyes sparkled with delight as she clapped her hands and accepted the pencils.
He watched her walk away, admiring the sway of her hips and confident strides. Then he saw her “friend.” The man was a little taller than her, but if she wore heels she’d be his height if not taller. He wore an expensive sweater and the sort of slightly floppy haircut that only male models and actors can get away with. She gestured to capture his attention, a flirty finger wave. The man recognized her, flashing a mouthful of white teeth.
Carson chomped on the inside of his lip, trying to alleviate some of the tension growing in him. He watched as the man put both hands on her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. His fingers clenched almost involuntarily. He needed action. He rested one hand on his daughter’s shoulder, trying to guide her close enough so he could hear their conversation. She stubbornly stomped her foot, refusing to move until she finished her drawing. The din of the museum drowned out all but the closest of conversations, but it couldn’t silence the voice in his head that told him he was a fool.
• • •
Penelope couldn’t believe her luck. Summoning her professional confidence, she took leave of her companions and walked right up to one of the most interesting choreographers working today. She had an in, so she could be more than a fawning fan or someone appearing as desperate for a job as she actually was.
“Felix Hart, is that really you?”
The man turned. Confusion and a flicker of recognition flashed across his features as he affirmed his name.
“You probably don’t remember me, but we met at a festival in Marseilles several years ago and then again in Edinburgh. You received top honors at both, as I recall.”
“Yes, yes.” Felix spoke with a heavy Austrian accent at first, but then mellowed into strange hybrid of British English, American English, and German. “You were the principal with the group that came in second in Edinburgh. What was it called? Some type of biscuit.”
“The Graham Project. Yes.”
“Remind me of your name again?”
“Penelope Glazier.”
“Ah, Mez Glazier. What a pleasure to meet you again.” He kissed her in the continental fashion. “Where have you and your legs been hiding? I haven’t seen you for at least a year.”
She was flattered he remembered her. He met hundreds of dancers vying for his attention at the festivals.
“The company folded for lack of funding. I toured the U.S. with a production of Peter Pan, but that’s over with now. I’ve got a few auditions lined up over the next few weeks, nothing likely to go to a festival though.”
He clucked his tongue as his eyes slid approvingly along her body. “Such a waste. As I recall you have excellent bending and balancing.”
So far, so good, she thought to herself. Better than good. “Tell me, Herr Hart, why are you in Chicago for Christmas? I thought you lived in Europe.”
“Felix. Love does strange things to a man, as my Jules says.” Remembering he was the touchy-feely type, she lightly touched his arm as they laughed. “And you, Ms. Glazier? Why are you at the museum?”
“Penelope, please. I’m visiting my parents. They live in the suburbs. I love the Art Institute. It’s so inspiring, even without the Degas exhibit.”
“Yes, I love it, too. That one with the farmer and the Chagall. Wonderful, wonderful. It has given me whole new ideas.” He spoke rapidly, his accents and languages getting more and more tangled as he grew more enthusiastic. He gestured about the room, drawing attention from other patrons. When he gestured toward the far corner, she noticed Carson glowering and chewing his lip.
“I do hate to cut this reunion short, but my friends are waiting. I hope you enjoy your visit to Chicago, and it was delightful to see you again.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek, unsure how to fish for further information without infuriating her ride home. She started to turn, but he caught her arm.
“Wait. You must let me know how to contact you.” He brought her in close. “Maybe I know people. If you still dance, that is.”
Penelope smiled. Asking outright for his information seemed too bold an act for her to do, but she liked his style and this was a better end result than she could have dreamed of from a chance meeting. She ripped a page out of her notebook. He offered the use of his back as a writing table, and she burst out laughing at his courtly ways.
Upon receiving the paper, he sputtered out a thank you that sounded more like “Dankoo.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Felix. Oh — do be sure to see the Georgia O’Keefe and the photography collection. There are some wonderful landscapes.” She smiled and once again they kissed each other’s cheeks. Walking across the room, she gave Felix a finge
r wave over her shoulder. He remembered her from her experimental dance days. Back when dance was all about the art and adventure, not about a steady paycheck. She missed those days, but as her career wound down, she valued that stable income and its ability to help her prepare for the future. But as she moved through the crowd, noticing how Carson and Eloise both cocked their heads slightly to the left as they studied a Matisse, she wondered what the cost of that stability might be.
• • •
The whole production escalated his bitterness. Penelope, the woman he considered risking his heart for, was not only leaving town, but flaunting other men in front of him. He couldn’t have invented the heat between them, but given what he witnessed, he decided to curb his overactive imagination. She clearly cared about Eloise, but apparently he meant nothing to her. Perhaps she was, as Sue had suggested, out for an easy hookup. His jaw clenched and his grip on his daughter’s shoulder tightened to the point where Eloise twice asked him to ease up.
His anger justified his intrusion on Penelope’s day with Eloise. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there to care for his daughter? She would have run off with this other guy and Eloise could have been lost, or worse yet, abducted before she even noticed. Casting her as irresponsible worked well for him. He couldn’t dismiss the physical cravings he had for her, but his heart hurt less thinking of her as someone who’d abandon a child for her own selfish gain.
She touched his arm. “Sorry about that.” He nodded, not wanting to engage in conversation. Her brows knotted as if she was thinking of something else to say, but then she quickly turned her interest to his daughter.
She crouched before Eloise. “Is this your drawing? It’s lovely.”
“It doesn’t look like that painting very much.”
“That’s okay. Think about how many paintings we’ve seen today that have fruit or flowers in them. They all looked different.”
Eloise wrinkled up her nose, making her “thinking face” as she continued.
“Every person sees the world a little bit differently.” She touched her fingertip to her nose. “Some people, like you and the artists on display here, just express their ideas better than others.”
Eloise smiled, folding up her notebook. Carson accepted the book, thinking how in different hands, his little girl might have switched into tantrum mode, becoming angry at herself for not “drawing right.” She was so good with her, helping her feel special for who she was, and not imposing her ideas of how his daughter should be.
“Are you hungry?”
Eloise nodded.
“Me too.” Holding hands, the two of them rose. “Let’s go the café. My treat.” He noticed the pointed way she looked at him as she spoke the last two words.
He refused to let her kindheartedness toward his daughter soothe his anger. He needed to hold on to his that hostility. If he let go of that anger, it would make it easier for her to turn his life inside out and wreak further havoc with his heart in the process. As they left the gallery, he yanked her close, hissing in her ear. “What the hell was that back there?”
She flashed an impertinent grin. “Networking.”
Her flip response angered him more and that was a good thing. She valued her career over everything else and given how she’d shown off her legs and kissed that guy, she would do anything to advance her career. No matter how good she was with Eloise and no matter how good her mouth tasted, she was a careerist and that was that.
He followed as they walked through the galleries to the café at the back corner of the museum. Along the way Penelope occasionally stopped and pointed to some of her favorite pieces. She got Eloise to talk about what she liked and why. She tried engaging him. too, particularly when he stared intently at a Chagall she loved, but he grumbled that he didn’t want to intrude on their special day.
As they ate lunch, Penelope and Eloise shared their sketchbooks with each other, giggling at how different their two copies of the same painting appeared. He sat back, eating, but not really tasting his sandwich. His mind tumbled over the same thoughts. How would he and Eloise get through her leaving their lives? Would anything convince her to stay and take a chance on him? On them?
Eloise’s voice interrupted his meanderings. “Miss Penny? Was that man you kissed your daddy?”
“No, sweetie.”
Eloise jumped in, disappointed. “Then you must be married to him.”
He loved listening to her logic, wishing the world were really as simple as it seemed to his daughter. He knew as she grew older her questions would become more complicated and his ability to reassure her would lessen. Already he had a lot of trouble trying to convincingly perpetuate the lie that the world was a good place.
“I’m not married to him or anyone for that matter. Why do you ask?”
“Because you only kiss boys that are your daddy or you got married to or maybe are your kids if they’re boys, and I know you don’t have any kids because you didn’t have toys at your house.”
She tousled Eloise’s hair. “Oh, there are other reasons to kiss somebody.” Her melodic voice had a faintly suggestive air.
He kicked her under the table. He hoped she had the good sense not talk about the birds and the bees. He wasn’t ready for that parenting step yet. He doubted he’d ever be ready. She retracted her legs, shooting him a harsh stare before turning back to Eloise and continuing in a matter of fact manner.
“That man is from a different country. He makes up dances that people perform all over the world. I met him in Europe. There, people kiss on the cheeks to say hello instead of shaking hands.”
“Even if they are smelly? Sometimes Grandma Sue smells yucky, but Daddy says I still have to kiss her.”
“Eloise! Mind your manners!”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
• • •
The drive home passed amicably. Eloise looked through the book of postcards he bought in the gift shop, alternating between begging Penelope to look at the pictures and asking both of them about the buildings and billboards they passed. He took a cue from Penelope. Rather than explaining the same ad over and over again, he asked Eloise to invent a story about the people. Soon they were swept up in this new game.
By the time they pulled into her driveway, he realized they made it through the trip without once discussing what Eloise wanted for Christmas. Not that she’d shared with him what she told Santa that day at the Patterson house, but he wondered if she’d asked Penelope to be her new mommy. She certainly seemed willing to ask her anything else. He wouldn’t bring it up. Although, if Penelope weren’t so focused on her career, so intent on leaving town and him …
“Thank you both for coming to the museum with me today. I had a lot of fun, especially seeing all your beautiful drawings, Eloise.” Eloise giggled at the compliment. Penelope grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling ever so slightly, drawing his attention to her eyes. He fought the impulse to kiss her. The smart thing to do would be to push her out the door, throw the car in reverse, and put as much space between them as possible.
Before he could act, her smile faded. She moved her hand to the door pull, but stopped short.
“Oh, Carson, I almost forgot.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a slim wrapped package, complete with a crushed red ribbon. “A little something for you.”
She rotated toward the back seat. “Eloise, don’t feel left out. I dropped off a present for you at your house earlier.”
“I know. I saw it. It’s so pretty. Can you come to Grandma and Pappy’s house tomorrow morning and watch me unwrap it?”
She formed an exaggerated pout. It was easier to fight his attraction when she overacted, but harder for him to question her overall sincerity. “I’m spending Christmas with my family tomorrow, just like you get to spend a special Christmas with your family. You’ll have to take pictures
to show me.”
“But I want you to be my family.” The thump of her foot on the seat shook the whole car. His body tensed, not in response to the movement but to brace himself against the oncoming explosion. He didn’t want this to escalate. Not in front of her.
He coughed, hoping the noise would derail her. “Eloise, it would be rude of us to invite a guest to Grandma and Pappy’s house, and I’m sure Miss Penny wants to see her parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters tomorrow.”
“But I don’t have a brother or a sister or — ”
He employed his stern father voice. “Eloise Patrice.”
Penelope hopped in. “Santa is so busy checking his naughty or nice list that he doesn’t have time to make last minute changes about where to deliver goodies to those on his nice list. We should stick with our own plans, but maybe you could call me later in the day and tell me about what a special day you and your daddy are having.”
The ease with which she saved him both irritated and pleased him.
Eloise rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Okay, but will you give me a hug?”
“Of course.” As Penelope stretched into the backseat, her hem rose higher and higher. He wanted to give her thigh a little tickle to see if she would react, perhaps leaning closer to him. His body responded to her proximity, but his mind said stop. She’s leaving town. She’s leaving you.
Chapter 8
Carson loaded the presents from under his tree into his car and drove to the Pattersons’ early Christmas morning. He and Eloise had returned home after last night’s Christmas Eve service, slept briefly, then shared a quick breakfast of cold cereal before rejoining the carefully orchestrated festivities at his sort-of in-laws. They’d spent every Christmas with Catherine’s family since her death. This year, the slow pace and methodical unwrapping allowing everyone ample time to gush over gifts held less appeal than usual. Eloise had never known the joy of diving into a pile of presents until she found one for her and ripping the paper with abandon. Those were the Christmas mornings he remembered. After the holidays, he’d broach the subject of alternating where they spent Christmas with Sue and Pappy. He owed Eloise some fun. He’d debated whether or not to bring Penelope’s gifts. In the end, he put them in the car but decided not to take them inside the Patterson home. He didn’t need to antagonize Sue when he wanted her cooperation.
Tidings of Love Page 47
