Dance Me a Dream (Wishful 7)

True enough.

“So it’s just you? Nobody to pitch in with them?”

She shot a glare his way. “You’ve been coming into The Grind almost every day and flirting for the past two weeks. I don’t for a second believe you haven’t been asking around about me.”

“I’m not interested in gossip. I’m asking you.”

Not an outright denial. Tara didn’t know if she preferred his direct approach or not.

Well, she wanted to put some distance between them. This had certainly worked with anyone else who’d tried to get too close.

“Our father is in prison. Burglary. He had primary custody of the kids at the time of his arrest. Their mother disappeared for parts unknown years ago. Dad’s parents are dead and I don’t know about the kids’ maternal grandparents. As far as anybody knows, I am the only family they have left, so I’ve basically been a mom since I was nineteen. It’s me or the foster system, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

Jace didn’t look put off at all. In fact he looked…impressed? “You’re doing a great job with them.”

That’s exactly what she didn’t know. Giving into a rare burst of agitation, Tara paced away, toward the tree. “You haven’t been around them enough to know that.” She turned to pace back, only to realize he’d followed and she smacked right into his chest.

Jace reached up reflexively to steady her, and those big, broad hands curving around her shoulders. “I’ve been around them enough to know that Ginny thinks you walk on water and Austin respects you.”

“My brother doesn’t respect me. He barely even tolerates me.” Tara’s hand splayed across his chest against the navy sweater. She forgot what she’d said. Why wasn’t Jace letting her go? Why wasn’t she pushing him away?

“Maybe he didn’t at first. But you’ve proved you’ll stick. You give him rules and boundaries—which he needs—and every single day, you prove you care. And if he’s said otherwise to your face, well, he’s eleven. All little boys are punk ass kids at eleven.”

Tara’s lips twitched. “Were you?” She could imagine a smaller version of him, same impish grin, same big brown eyes feigning innocence.

“Me? Oh no. Livia was the punk ass. I was a sainted angel. And if my mother tells you otherwise, she’s lying.”

That wrangled a chuckle out of her. “Your halo’s a little crooked there, Jace.”

He released her and reached up, miming straightening the thing. “Better

?”

She’d felt better with his hands on her. Grounded. The way she’d once felt with good dance partners, when she knew she could leap for the sky and they would catch her. Tara decided not to give too much thought to that. “Might need some spit and polish. Meanwhile, I should round up the kids and sort out dinner.”

“Should be ready any minute. C’mon.” He headed for the door.

“Y’all don’t have to feed us,” Tara protested, then belatedly wondered if he’d brought the contents of the fridge as well as the tree.

“You just moved in. Nobody expected you to cook. And around here, everybody takes a turn at KP. You’ll get yours. Livia’s on deck tonight, and I heard rumors of pork loin and roasted vegetables. After that, carols by the fire.”

“Seriously?” she asked, following him down the stairs.

“We take Christmas very seriously around here.”

I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming and I’m trapped in a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie.

“Well. Okay then.” What else was there to say?

~*~

Music spilled out the moment Jace opened the door to the main house. The cheerful strings of The Nutcracker, at a guess. Beside him, Tara flinched.

Not a classical music fan? He recalled this had been playing the last several times he’d been in The Grind. Maybe she’d ODed.

Ginny’s giggles carried from the living room.

“We’re ready,” his mother declared.