“Daddy, can I have pink hair?”
“The day it grows out that color,” he said, “you can have pink hair.” But Mia’s assessment had been spot-on. Starla was beautiful, wearing a flowing aqua top with white cropped pants and blingy sandals. Her blonde-and-pink-and-turquoise hair hung in big loose spirals over her shoulders. The long, billowy sleeves of her top hid her tattoos, but he could see one peeking from under the cuff of her pants. Once the girls spied it, he would really have his hands full.
The girls hadn’t liked his answer in regard to pink hair. Mia crossed her arms with a huff, bottom lip jutting out in her exaggerated pout. Ashley looked ready to wail. Recovering her composure quickly—she wasn’t bashful either, he knew—Starla knelt down with his daughters. “You’re beautiful just the way you are. I made my hair this color, but I’m a grown-up.”
“I can’t wait to be a grown-up,” Mia said.
“Enjoy being a kid for as long as you can,” Starla told her. “Trust me on that. Have fun all the time.”
“School isn’t fun.”
“It can be. Don’t you like playing with your friends?”
“Daniel pulls my hair all the time. And Annie steals my crayons.”
“Maybe Daniel likes you and Annie just wants your attention because she wants to be your friend. Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I wish I could go back to school.”
“Why?” the girls asked in unison.
“Because there are lots of things I wish I’d done, and lots of things I wish I hadn’t. But,” she added seriously, looking at each of them in turn, “if people are mean to you to show they like you, then don’t be their friend.”
Given her incident the other night, she might know a thing or two about that. Ashley and Mia stared at her silently with wide, round eyes, each of them nodding. You would think a Disney princess had appeared and brought them under her thrall. She’d just about brought him under it too.
“Good advice,” he put in. “And within two minutes of you being here. Impressive.”
She stood, a mysterious little smile curving her full, pink-tinted lips. Ashley and Mia didn’t take their eyes off her. “I have my moments. Would you mind helping me?”
He hopped to attention as she went around to the other side of her car, following so he could help her collect the white grocery bags from the passenger seat. When Ash and Mia spied the transparent plastic container Starla brought out last, they set up a chant.
“Cookies! Cookies! Daddy, she brought cookies!”
“After dinner,” he said firmly as Starla shut her car door.
“Are you making pizza?” Mia asked.
“No, but I hope you like what I do make.”
“Mia, don’t be rude.” He added to Starla, “Sorry. They’ve been asking for pizza ever since we left church.”
“Oh, it’s fine. They probably would’ve been happier with that. I do make a pretty mean pizza. I wish I’d thought of it.”
They began the walk toward the front door in the dusk, the girls running ahead to punch in the code on his electronic lock. It was a mild evening, fragrant with spring and beautiful with the deep blue of the sky stained a dark orange where the sun had gone down. One by one, stars were peeking out. Perfect weather to sit out on the deck and drink a beer or two once the girls were in bed. Maybe that was something he and Starla could do later—some adult company without the incessant chatter of little voices would be nice. He was becoming too much of a hermit lately. “Thanks for this,” he told her. “I’m not much of a cook myself, so when they come over, it’s pretty much macaroni and cheese or ravioli. Or pizza. Their mother is always getting on me about it.”
“It’s no problem. I enjoy doing it. Nice place, by the way.” She cast a glance around. “Very nice.”
“Did you find it without much problem?”
“The big JS sign clued me in a little. I put two and two together.”
“Oh right.” He laughed, wondering why his palms were a little sweaty, his heart rate a little elevated. This isn’t a date, he reminded himself, but damn if it didn’t feel like one given his reaction to her nearness. Her peaches-and-cream scent wafted hauntingly toward him, carried on the light breeze. He found himself inhaling it deeply. Wondering if it was at its most intense in the soft hollow of her neck, or the valley between her breasts…or even in the soft crease behind her knees. Macy, she had worn perfume behind her knees, especially if she was wearing a skirt—
Fuuuuuck. Stop.