Page 102 of Touch of Class

“Oh, I love that. Wait, it’s starting!”

Sure enough, the scene on the screen changed to the image of a woman riding a horse, bow in hand, arrow knocked. She was stunning, and Gillian wondered briefly if this was the actress Izzy had referenced. If so, she suspected a great many people would love to have the kid make a personal introduction.

Gillian glanced over where Izzy had curled up in an overstuffed armchair with a mug of hot cocoa. She wore a matching pajama set featuring cats riding unicorns. Big eyes intent on the screen, her lips curled up slightly and her dark curls spilled down in unruly waves. She looked so much like her mother had at that age, Gillian had to steal a glance at Daphne to remind herself she hadn’t entered some sort of time warp, and when she did, she caught her looking.

Daphne held her gaze for a moment as so many unsettling questions passed between them. Or at least they should’ve been unsettling. Gillian had no idea what they were doing or where they were headed, or even what she wanted beyond this moment, and normally, that combination would freak her all the way out, except tonight she hadn’t felt anything other than contented.

She’d shared an amazing dinner with Daphne’s family, and not merely because Hugh proved himself to be a stellar cook. The conversation flowed easily from art to travel to the glories of their snow day. She and Hugh had hit it off with similar wit and taste in a single malt scotch after dinner. Izzy had been a wealth of entertainment, switching between stories of youthful drama and gentle teasing of her parents for Gillian’s benefit. The girl clearly felt safe and loved enough to be playful with them both.

Whether out of occupational hazard, genuine interest, or more likely, both, she found herself paying close attention to the dynamics of this little family. She’d never seen a setup like theirs in action, but even in her most analytical mode, she could find no flaws in the execution. Daphne and Hugh had a quiet adoration and comfort with each other that few married couples sustained long term. Gentle ways of moving around one another paired with a sweet kind of awareness, the way she passed him as they cleared a table together, the little bit of side-eye, or the soft huff of an inside joke. They were comfortable in a deeply meaningful way, and that sense of security clearly spilled over to how they cared for their daughter with attention, pride, and a healthy dose of teasing.

Gillian’s nervous system was calm in ways it hadn’t been for quite some time. The irony was not lost on her. There was nothing conventional about this setup, and even less so about her presence in the middle of it all, but as much as she’d invested in understanding best practices, there was simply no denying the results of this experiment. It worked, and not just on the immediate family, but it somehow granted her some modicum of the peace and security they’d fostered together.

“Gillian …” Hugh interrupted her thoughts. “Are you fond of gin?”

She took a second to process the question. “I suppose, in the right context and with the right gin.”

He hopped out of his chair, then nodded to the scene on the screen where the same actress as before strode purposefully through an interior castle courtyard. “I have a bottle that was produced in that very location. Shall we sample it?”

She glanced at the movie once more and found she did quite enjoy the connection, but she’d already had a scotch he’d tempted her with under the similar pretense of having been distilled in some region of Scotland he had personal ties to. “Perhaps I should take a rain check, as I have to drive home soon.”

“One doesn’t need rain checks on snow days.” He grinned. “Surely one more wouldn’t kill you.”

She shook her head. “Maybe not, but a drive in the snow after drinking it might.”

“I’ll drive you home if you need,” Daphne offered, her voice so quiet and soft Gillian barely recognized it.

Gillian turned to her again, taking in the sight of her fully, her buffalo plaid pajama pants and faded gray hoodie, her hair pulled back from her pretty face, her full lips pressed lightly together, the curve of her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat she now knew smelled like clean linen. The heat spreading through Gillian was already threatening to override her every moderating impulse, but then Daphne fried them completely by adding a single sentence.

“Or you could stay.”

The silence stretched between them for long enough to charge the whole room until Izzy obliviously jumped in. “Yeah, Mom has a guest room upstairs. Maybe you’ll be snowed in and have to sleep over. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Gillian released a breath slowly, trying to formulate an appropriate response, any response at all, that could somehow make sense to all the people in this room, most of all herself.

Instead, Hugh threw her a lifeline. “Why don’t I get the gin, and we’ll see how it goes from there.”

She nodded slowly, still not breaking eye contact with Daphne, who added, “We’ll figure it out.”

She liked the sound of that. She liked this woman. She also liked figuring things out. It might not have been the most detailed proposal she’d ever heard, but what if for now she simply let that be enough?

“She’s out.” Hugh scooped up Izzy from her chair, hoisting her awkwardly loose frame into his big arms. Izzy grumbled slightly before wrapping her arms around her father’s neck. As Daphne stood and watched him walk down the hallway, she suffered a single pang of envy at no longer being able to carry her like that.

“She used to sleep in my arms, too,” she said. “It’s happening too fast. You should’ve seen how different she was even a year ago.”

Gillian smiled. “I would’ve liked to, but I saw you at that age, which feels pretty close.”

The sentiment of the comment niggled at a soft spot in Daphne. “We’ve known several versions of each other, haven’t we?”

“Indeed. And I’ve enjoyed getting to know this aspect of you tonight. Thank you for letting me join in.”

Daphne snorted softly. “It wasn’t my idea. Hugh went rogue.”

“I got that sense,” Gillian admitted. “I kept waiting for you to object. It’s so unlike you to keep quiet, I figured your arguments against me being here must be pretty weak.”

Daphne wasn’t sure she appreciated being pegged so accurately, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by Gillian’s astute observations. “You know, I want to push back on that assertion, but I think it’s force of habit.”

“We’ve built some strong patterns with each other over the years. It’s hard to abandon them without putting something else in their place. Maybe the absence of argument isn’t enough.”