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“No brandy after all?”
“Changed my mind. Didn’t feel like wasting time cutting it open and all that shit. The whisky was easier.” He poured her a glass of the wine and offered it, waiting as she tasted.
Isabel let out an appreciative sigh, then nodded to the long, comfortably padded chaise lounges. “Want to sit? Who knows how long we’ll have this lovely peace.”
It actually lasted almost thirty minutes and she was on her second glass of the deliciously cold and sweet ice wine when Brooklyn came bursting through the back door, hitting the porch lights on full so the deck lit up like the fourth of July.
Preening, she spun and twirled her way to stand in front of Isabel and Travis, her arms held out as she posed.
“How do I look?” she demanded, angling her chin up and puckering her lips in an expression Isabel couldn’t identify.
“Lovely,” Isabel said soberly, trapping the laugh that wanted to escape. And the girlwaslovely—Storm had used a delicate hand with the makeup, although the glittery swooshes of purple eyeshadow would have delighted Brooklyn. That, and the pink lipstick were the only obvious signs, but it was enough to make the little girl feel beautiful. Being with the older girl had worked wonders for the girl’s confidence.
Isabel’s heart ached at the thought of one day maybe having to let both Brooklyn and Mariah go—they were both young, and loving, children, healthy, the kind many looked to adopt. Aaron and Storm were older, harder to place, and Isabel had already asked Aaron if he’d like to stay, even consider letting Isabel adopt him, but he had yet to answer her—Storm knew the option was open to her as well, but she’d refused, insistent her father would want her once ‘knew what was going on.’ She’d never wavered in her faith in him.
“Ms. Bella!” Brooklyn rushed to her and climbed onto her lap, patting her cheeks. “What’s wrong? You look sad. Should Storm do your makeup?”
“No.” Releasing a laugh she hoped wasn’t too watery, Isabel pressed a kiss to Brooklyn’s brow. Storm, bouncing Mariah on her hip, came over and offered Brooklyn a hand. Isabel gave her a reassuring look. “Why don’t I read the two of you a story and then you go run your bath?”
“But my makeup will wash off!” She looked crestfallen.
“Then we’ll just have to do it again tomorrow before I go hang with Farrah,” Storm said easily. “That means you’ll get a makeovertwodays in a row!”
“Yeah ... I guess. Storm, will you help me with my bath? And can Mariah take it with me?”
“Brooklyn, that’s not Storm’s job,” Isabel said.
But Storm winked at her over her shoulder as she took Brooklyn’s hand. “I think that sounds just fine. After that,thenwe’ll read a book—in your room. You got one in mind?”
The door shut behind them and Isabel sighed. “Yes. We’re definitely being managed.”
“Should I go?” Travis asked.
Isabel waited only a moment before she said, “Only if you want to.”
He met her gaze and in a voice as deep and dark as the night, he told her, “I don’t want to go.”
