“Fifty years?” she breathed.
Fiona knew with a look that Prentice wanted to stick with the matter at hand and was losing patience at her shift. “Elle, we –”
Bella interrupted him, asking incredulously, “You want me here for fifty years?”
Now Fiona knew that Prentice was getting annoyed. “Aye, we established that last night.”
“Why?” Bella asked suddenly, her voice somehow both breathy and sharp.
Prentice’s brows drew together. “Why what?”
“Why do you want me here?”
“Elle…” Yes, definitely impatient, Fiona knew this because he released her but leaned into her, resting a hand on the edge of the sink, he tore the other through his hair.
“Tell me.” Her voice was getting sharper, colder. “Tell me why you want me here. I want to know.”
“Elle –”
“Why?” Bella’s voice was a lash and her body had grown solid.
Prentice stared at her, his impatience vanishing, understanding dawning.
Fiona knew they were in trouble.
Prentice was not a man prone to flowery words. In fact, the words she’d heard him say about her the night before on the balcony (they still made her ghostly belly melt) were the most flowery she’d ever had from him.
No, Prentice was more a man who spoke through actions.
This wasn’t a time for action; it was a time for words and Fiona doubted that Prentice could give Bella what she obviously needed.
Fiona was wrong.
His face gentled, his hand came to rest on her jaw and he answered her question in that soft voice filled with love.
“Your pancakes, your cookies, your smile.”
Uh-oh.
Even said in his beautiful, soft voice, Fiona didn’t think that was a great start.
Bella, staring up at him with fear and doubt barely masked behind the coldness in her eyes, didn’t either.
Prentice wasn’t done.
“The way you care for my home, the way you care for my family.”
Fiona decided this wasn’t going too well. No woman wanted a man to want her because she was a good housekeeper and babysitter and made good pancakes.
“The way you are with Sally, enjoying every second of her, never making her feel silly or getting impatient with her liveliness.”
All right, that was a wee bit better. Fiona watched Bella’s face shift slightly, still guarded but Prentice had struck a chord.
“The way you are with Jason, how you handle him with such care. Showing him that Fiona’s guitar, something she loved, wasn’t an instrument of mourning, which she’d hate, but an instrument to celebrate her and keep her memory alive.”
Bella started to shake her head but his hand at her jaw tightened.
“The way you make me laugh when you forget to be what your father wanted you to be and you’re just you.”