Page 57 of Isabella and the Slipper

Chapter 18

Chase stood in the back room, looking at the artwork to be hung. He wasn’t sure what to say. They looked like something he’d see in a third-grade art show. And what was the deal with the hands and feet? He scratched his chin.

“This one looks like someone sat in wet paint and then—”

“Yep.” Isabella cringed. “That’s what happened. These are Delilah’s paintings.”

“So, that’s ... ?”

“It is.”

“Huh.” He tried not to laugh but a chuckle came out anyway, and then a full-fledged gut buster, and Isabella burst out laughing, too.

“She’s decided to join the art world?” he asked.

Isabella nodded. “Mmm hmm.”

“How interesting.”

He almost asked if Isabella’s paintings had ever been in the gallery, but stopped himself. Isabella had never mentioned her paintings. Only Five. He had to be careful what he said to her.

They hung and redistributed artwork until he grew hungry. He checked the time on his phone. “Want to go to lunch with me?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know ...”

“Come on, we’ll be fast. It will be my treat.”

She nodded, although she frowned at the same time.

“We can go somewhere your stepsisters wouldn’t think of going,” he said.

A smile curled her lips up. “They wouldn’t be caught dead at McDonald’s.”

He laughed. “Then a Big Mac it is.”

She told Leilani they were leaving, and they went out the back door. When they were in his car, he put the top down and turned on the engine. He glanced at her. She wore her hair down every day, the strands long and hanging in front of her glasses. He wondered what it would look like if she wore it up.

He drove down the street. “What was your dad like?”

She stiffened, and he backpedaled. “I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t mind.” She sat, clearly uncomfortable.

He let her sit for a moment in silence.

“My dad was the kindest man I’ve ever known. He would always give to those people ringing the bells at Christmastime. Even when we were dirt poor. He said there were people out there who were worse off than we were.”

“My father’s kind of like that, too. He lost his job last year, but he still insists on giving to his favorite charities.”

Isabella’s hair blew in the breeze, and he had a sudden craving to touch it. Was it as soft as it looked? He clenched the steering wheel with both hands.

She gazed out the windshield, a slight smile on her face. “My father used to read to me every night before bed. Not picture books, but what I thought were grown-up books likeA Wrinkle in TimeandThe Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.He gave me a healthy imagination and a love for the arts.”

He smiled at her. “That’s a good memory, I’m sure.”

“Yes. He was a good father.”

Chase parked the car and cut the engine. “Ready for a gut bomb?”

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