“As a general rule, a lie is not the answer, but some situations call for drastic measures,” she retorted. She glanced up and saw Annie standing hesitantly just outside the curtain of the dressing room. The red suit that Annie had liked best was clearly intended for someone who actually had a bust. Val swallowed hard at the sight, then muttered so only Slade could hear, “This is one of them.”
She could see him struggling with a smile, but he managed to say cheerfully, “That suit’s real bright, honey. Is it the one you want?”
Annie’s gaze faltered. “I’m not so sure. It’s kinda big.” She gestured. “Up here.”
“Too big,” Val said decisively, greatly relieved that Annie had voiced it first. “Try the other one.”
When Annie had retreated to the dressing room, Slade glanced over at Val. “So, tell me, what happened to the little white lie?”
“You gave her moral support. I gave her the truth,” she replied. “It balances out.”
“You could give her both and I could keep my mouth shut,” Slade suggested. “I don’t seem to be getting the rules. Or is it that you keep changing them?”
Val frowned at him. “You really don’t have much instinct for this sort of thing, do you?”
“Not a bit,” he agreed without remorse.
“Well, you’re just going to have to learn,” she said decisively. “And now’s your chance.”
Annie reappeared in the green bathing suit. It was a perfect fit. “How about this one?” she asked, glancing hopefully straight at her father.
He surveyed her intently, then gestured for her to turn around. She did a slow pirouette and then he nodded. “Real flattering,” he said at last, the compliment all the more meaningful because he had clearly struggled for it. “You’ll glide through the water like a little fish in that.”
As compliments went, it wasn’t all that pretty, and he looked awkward as the dickens as he said it, but Val had to give him points for trying. As for Annie, she looked as if he’d just told her she looked like a princess.
“You used to say that to me a long time ago, didn’t you?” she asked shyly. “That I could swim like a fish?”
Slade appeared startled, then a slow smile spread across his face. “You couldn’t have been much more than a baby back then. I took you down to the pool when we were on a visit to your grandmama’s.” He regarded her with amazement. “You actually remember that?”
“I remember a lot,” she said, her eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears. Then she spun away and ran to the dressing room.
Slade gazed helplessly at Val. “What did I say wrong?”
She reached up and touched a hand to his cheek. “Nothing. For once, I think you got it just right.”
“But she’s crying.”
“Because you connected with her. You shared a memory, made her see that there was a time in the past when something you did together was as special to you as it was to her.”
Slade shook his head, still staring after Annie, his expression miserable. “I never could stand to see her cry.”
Val tucked that little tidbit away right next to his secret addiction to chocolate. She was beginning to discover that despite his gruff, tough exterior, Slade Sutton was an old softie, after all. It made her more determined than ever to snag him for herself.
Five
When Annie finally reappeared, clutching the green bathing suit, her eyes were puffy from crying. Slade’s first instinct was to gather her in his arms as he would have when she was a toddler. It had been so long, though, that he was afraid she’d rebuff the gesture.
“Let’s pay for this and get some lunch,” he suggested instead. “I vote for pizza.”
He was rewarded with the faintest glimmer of a smile on Annie’s face. He grinned back at her. “Still your favorite?”
“With pepperoni and sausage,” she said.
“What about anchovies?” he teased.
“No way you’re putting little fishies on my pizza. If you want ’em, get your own.”
He turned to Val. “And you? Can I talk you into anchovies?”
“Not a chance.”
He feigned a disappointed sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to make the sacrifice and go with pepperoni and sausage.”
Annie regarded him wisely. “You never get anchovies. I don’t think you really like them.”
“Well, of course I do,” he insisted. “Biggest sacrifice of my life, giving up those little fishies.”
“Then get your own pizza,” Val suggested, winking at Annie. “She and I can share.”