Page 37 of Puppy Christmas

But that wasn’t right. Lila was the cold one. Ford was everything attractive and happy and warm.

“Emily’s okay,” he said. “Emily’s fine.”

“Then…?” It wasn’t Lila’s business, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. What on earth had Patrick been telling this man to bring such a shadow to his face?

“He was just checking in.” Ford smiled again, and this time, it seemed more genuine. “He’s good people, Patrick Yarmouth. But there’s no need for me to tell you that, is there?”

The question was a rhetorical one. With a cheerfulness that Lila couldn’t decide was faked or not, Ford wrested both Helen and her away from the kitchen, vowing that no one was allowed to wash dishes in his house without his assistance.

“I’ve worked really hard to teach Emily that it’s standard for a sink to be overflowing with dirty dishes,” he explained, laughing. “I’d hate for you two to reverse my six years of painstaking training.”

“Oh, Ford.” Helen giggled and took the arm he offered her. “I don’t know how you put up with him, Lila. Does he ever mean any of the things he says?”

She should have said something to put him in his place, to reinforce the boundaries that must, of necessity, exist between them. But Ford was watching her with an oddly keen expression. It was almost as though her answer carried weight—like she might actually possess the power to hurt him.

The feeling was unsettling, which was why Lila summoned up the brightest smile she had. “Not to my knowledge, no,” she said and even managed a laugh. “But even an incorrigible flirt is right twice a day.”