Mommy, a wiggle game.”
William had no idea what that was, but he couldn’t look because he was busy balancing the cardboard carrier holding their drinks on his lap. He did manage to lower the window a couple of inches. The aroma of fast food was not one of his favorites.
“Thank you,” he heard Daria say softly.
They were a mile or so from the airport when Hailey sighed elaborately and said, “I like this place. Can we come back someday, Mommy?”
William spotted Miranda, who was sitting directly behind the driver, roll her eyes dramatically. “You say that about every place we’ve ever been. You don’t know anything about this town. And look at all the snow. You’ve never lived in snow. You’d probably hate it.”
“Would not.”
“Would, too.”
Daria shushed them. “Stop it, you two.” Her voice was brittle and she sounded even more exhausted than William. “Hailey, love, we should make an effort to come here again. The mountains are really pretty. Miranda, please…”
Miranda gave Hailey a little shove and turned her face toward the door.
William faced forward again, wishing he had a free hand to rub the knot in his neck. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck to ease the tense muscles. He’d tossed and turned so many times during the night he woke up feeling as though he’d run a marathon. And his early morning call from Notty hadn’t helped.
“Something wrong with your neck?” Daria asked.
He looked in the taxi’s side mirror and could see a tiny-size image of her. “I usually bring my own pillow when I travel. The ones at that hotel were like sleeping on a puffy rock.”
Miranda let out a loud guffaw. “When Hugh Grant was on Oprah he said he never went anywhere without his own pillow. He said that made him old.”
He is old. Older than me, he almost answered. Instead, with as much dignity as possible, he told her, “Actually, offering a menu of pillow choices—firm, memory foam, hypo-allergenic, et cetera—is not uncommon at five-star hotels.”
“So, our hotel was like a one-star?” she asked.
Their driver, who was probably in his midtwenties, snickered in a start and stop way, like a cat working up a hairball.
“Miranda,” her mother interrupted, “that in-room coffee didn’t agree with me. Could we ride in peace, please?”
That explained her paleness, William thought. He sat forward enough to actually turn and look at her. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Or a sore throat?”
“Are you sick, Mommy?” Hailey cried, reaching for her mother’s hand.
Daria gave William a cross look. A mind-your-own-business look. “I’m fine, honey. My tummy’s a little upset, that’s all.”
William turned back around, distracted by the low hum of his phone. Balancing the tray of drinks on his knees, he reached in the pocket of his jacket. Libby. “Hi, Libby, what’s up?”
“Where are you guys? I just got off the phone with Cal. He said you got waylaid by weather, but he couldn’t remember the name of the town. Is everything okay?”
“We decided to sit out a storm that’s now long gone. We’re on our way to the airport as we speak.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear you’ll be there soon. Cal sounded pretty upset. I think he’s heard from Daria’s ex-husband.”
In the mirror, he saw Daria sit forward, concern clearly visible on her face. “Hang on, Lib. I’m going to hand the phone to Daria. I’m just the pilot, remember?”
Libby’s laughing, “In your dreams,” was the last thing he heard as he held the phone over his shoulder. Daria took it from his fingers with great care. Her touch sent a tangible vibration along his arm and through his body. Interesting. Dangerous.
No, he decided, crazy.
The last thing either of them needed was him thinking he was physically attracted to Daria—even if she had been the real source of his restless night.
Daria didn’t know Libby well—Bruce hadn’t liked any of Daria’s relatives, including her
William had no idea what that was, but he couldn’t look because he was busy balancing the cardboard carrier holding their drinks on his lap. He did manage to lower the window a couple of inches. The aroma of fast food was not one of his favorites.
“Thank you,” he heard Daria say softly.
They were a mile or so from the airport when Hailey sighed elaborately and said, “I like this place. Can we come back someday, Mommy?”
William spotted Miranda, who was sitting directly behind the driver, roll her eyes dramatically. “You say that about every place we’ve ever been. You don’t know anything about this town. And look at all the snow. You’ve never lived in snow. You’d probably hate it.”
“Would not.”
“Would, too.”
Daria shushed them. “Stop it, you two.” Her voice was brittle and she sounded even more exhausted than William. “Hailey, love, we should make an effort to come here again. The mountains are really pretty. Miranda, please…”
Miranda gave Hailey a little shove and turned her face toward the door.
William faced forward again, wishing he had a free hand to rub the knot in his neck. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck to ease the tense muscles. He’d tossed and turned so many times during the night he woke up feeling as though he’d run a marathon. And his early morning call from Notty hadn’t helped.
“Something wrong with your neck?” Daria asked.
He looked in the taxi’s side mirror and could see a tiny-size image of her. “I usually bring my own pillow when I travel. The ones at that hotel were like sleeping on a puffy rock.”
Miranda let out a loud guffaw. “When Hugh Grant was on Oprah he said he never went anywhere without his own pillow. He said that made him old.”
He is old. Older than me, he almost answered. Instead, with as much dignity as possible, he told her, “Actually, offering a menu of pillow choices—firm, memory foam, hypo-allergenic, et cetera—is not uncommon at five-star hotels.”
“So, our hotel was like a one-star?” she asked.
Their driver, who was probably in his midtwenties, snickered in a start and stop way, like a cat working up a hairball.
“Miranda,” her mother interrupted, “that in-room coffee didn’t agree with me. Could we ride in peace, please?”
That explained her paleness, William thought. He sat forward enough to actually turn and look at her. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Or a sore throat?”
“Are you sick, Mommy?” Hailey cried, reaching for her mother’s hand.
Daria gave William a cross look. A mind-your-own-business look. “I’m fine, honey. My tummy’s a little upset, that’s all.”
William turned back around, distracted by the low hum of his phone. Balancing the tray of drinks on his knees, he reached in the pocket of his jacket. Libby. “Hi, Libby, what’s up?”
“Where are you guys? I just got off the phone with Cal. He said you got waylaid by weather, but he couldn’t remember the name of the town. Is everything okay?”
“We decided to sit out a storm that’s now long gone. We’re on our way to the airport as we speak.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear you’ll be there soon. Cal sounded pretty upset. I think he’s heard from Daria’s ex-husband.”
In the mirror, he saw Daria sit forward, concern clearly visible on her face. “Hang on, Lib. I’m going to hand the phone to Daria. I’m just the pilot, remember?”
Libby’s laughing, “In your dreams,” was the last thing he heard as he held the phone over his shoulder. Daria took it from his fingers with great care. Her touch sent a tangible vibration along his arm and through his body. Interesting. Dangerous.
No, he decided, crazy.
The last thing either of them needed was him thinking he was physically attracted to Daria—even if she had been the real source of his restless night.
Daria didn’t know Libby well—Bruce hadn’t liked any of Daria’s relatives, including her
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