Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(23)
Author: Kristen Ashley

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Isabella

Isabella sat on the couch in the great room facing Sally, one of her legs bent and pulled up on the seat, Sally’s hand flat on her thigh. As she had been during the whole polishing portion of the shaping, buffing, varnishing manicure, Sally was calm and docile while Isabella put the last coat of clear varnish over the hot pink she’d already brushed on the girl’s final fingernail.

“All right, Sally honey, you’re done but you’ve got to sit there for a good ten minutes to give it time to dry.”

Sally surveyed her fingernails with a rapt expression on her face as Isabella caught movement out of the side of her eye and saw Prentice exit his study.

He stopped and leveled his gaze on them.

“They’ve never looked this pretty,” Sally breathed as if Isabella didn’t give her a manicure but instead painted her portrait displaying more talent than Gainsborough.

Isabella hesitated, fighting an urge that was nearly overwhelming because Prentice was standing right there.

Then she thought, Screw it.

Sally was just too danged cute.

Again, Prentice would just have to deal.

And anyway, it was all his and Fiona’s fault for having an endearing daughter.

She leaned forward, kissed the top of Sally’s head then got up, repeating, “Ten minutes, sweetheart.”

“Ten minutes!” Sally chirped and then sat statue-still in the couch.

Grinning to herself, Isabella went to the mudroom to get the laundry, walking by Prentice without looking at him but feeling his eyes on her as she went.

The tumble dryer had buzzed five minutes ago and she hustled in to fold the clothes before they became wrinkled.

She had no earthy clue why she woke up with Prentice’s family’s laundry on her mind but she did. That was her first thought, as if someone had shouted at her in her sleep to get up and do the laundry.

Which she did and it needed to get done.

Even though it felt strange and intimate handling Prentice’s clothes, there was a mountain of laundry. She’d done four loads now and there were at least two more to go (probably three). So much, she’d even run down between doing her makeup and hair to switch out the washer and dryer.

She’d just finished folding and was setting aside the pieces that needed to be ironed when Jason rounded the corner into the room.

“Dad says he’s ready to go,” Jason announced and Isabella thought that was a strange way to voice such an announcement, considering they were driving separate vehicles and they could go when they wanted.

She’d phoned Annie and let her know she’d be a little late as it was a moral imperative to give Sally a manicure. Annie had laughed and agreed that manicures for six year old motherless girls were, indeed, a moral imperative.

One example of millions as to why Isabella loved Annie.

“Could you do me a big favor?” Isabella asked, shaking out one of Prentice’s shirts and throwing it on a pile of other shirts to be ironed. “When you have a minute, can you take these latest piles upstairs?”

Jason had been delivering the stacks of folded clothes to their respective rooms all morning. Isabella had arranged it at breakfast, pre-Prentice showing up and her mind moved to Prentice and that morning.

He had shown up bare-chested, barefoot, hair tousled, looking unfairly, even, one could say, criminally attractive…

Oh, and when he’d offered his pancake to her, on his plate. The very thought of her doing something as intimate as eating off his plate was not to be borne…

Oh, and when he’d smiled at her, the first smile he’d sent her way since she’d been back, well, she thought for a second that she was going to pass out, literally fall in a dead faint on the floor.

“I’ll do it now,” Jason mumbled, picking up a pile of Prentice’s clothes and fortunately taking Isabella away from her thoughts.

“Thanks,” Isabella whispered, wanting to touch him, tousle his hair, anything to show the boy a little affection after what she heard last night.

But she didn’t.

She had four more days with this family, an unwelcome guest and when she was gone, she would be gone.

What she had to give was pancakes, laundress service and manicures.

And that was what she was going to give.

She wasn’t going to be able to wring miracles, take the tightness away from Prentice’s mouth (no way in hell) or cure Jason of his nightmares.

But she could sure as heck make pancakes.

And good ones.

She’d taken the clothes from the washer, put them in the dryer and was shoving another load in the washer when Prentice’s tall frame filled the door.

She twisted her head and visions of him in only pajama bottoms filled her brain.

She’d seen him shirtless twenty years ago, of course, and memories of his body, the defined muscles, the hair that matted his chest (not too much, just enough) had been fodder for many a fantasy when they were apart and the twenty ensuing years besides.

Now, the defined muscle had more bulk, more power. Even the way he held himself which, back in the day, was confident to the point of almost swaggering, was now more confident but without the swagger.

He knew who he was, had settled into his physique and the result was enthralling.

Still, he could have absented himself that morning and put on a shirt. It was the polite thing to do. She knew it was his house and she was a guest he’d rather not have but, really. To wander around the kitchen half-naked, standing close to her (probably so he could keep an eye on her and wrestle her out of the room if she did anything too friendly with his children), it was too much!

“Yes?” she prompted when he seemed fascinated with watching her measure soap into the load.

Prentice’s gaze cut to her face and took in her hair then her body before coming back to her eyes.

“We’re leaving.”

“I’ll see you there,” she turned away, dropping the lid on the washer, turning the dial and hitting the button.

He was still standing in the door when she made to leave the room.

“You’re coming with us.”

Isabella halted. Then she stared at him.

“I’ll drive myself,” she said.

“That’s unnecessary considering we’re both going to the same place.”

“I’d prefer to drive myself.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed.

Her hands clenched into fists.

Because being with you is killing me especially since you obviously hate me and I’ve never fallen out of love with you.