“Out of the mouths of babes...” Gramp waggled his eyebrows.
Aaron expelled an annoyed breath. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
“Why? Am I hitting too close to home?”
“It doesn’t matter. Devyn is a short-timer here. She’ll be gone in six weeks. What would be the point of ... anything?”
“You never know. People’s plans change.”
“Gramp.” He glanced toward the passenger seat. “She’s a world-famous ballerina.”
“And you’re a world-class man. I’d say that even if you weren’t my grandson, by the way. Seems like a decent match to me.”
“Only if you’re wearing rose-colored glasses. That’s not how life works.”
“It could.”
“You’re an optimist.”
“And you’re a pessimist.”
“No. A realist.” He tightened his grip on the wheel. “I’ve learned a thing or two about compatibility through the years.”
“You don’t know Devyn well enough yet to make that call.”
“I know the key facts. I work in a mill. She dances at Lincoln Center. End of story.”
Gramp waved aside his conclusion. “Those are externals. It’s what’s in the heart that matters.”
“True. But it takes a while to do a deep dive into a heart, and her stay here is limited.”
“I think Devyn’s heart is as pretty as her dancing.” Isabel added her two cents from the back seat.
“Truer words were never spoken.” Gramp leaned around and gave her a high five.
Aaron changed the subject for the remainder of the short drive home, but Isabel returned to it as he tucked her in for the night.
“You like Miss Devyn, don’t you, Dad?” As he pulled up the blanket, she hugged the tattered Raggedy Ann doll she’d begun taking to bed with her again after Olivia died.
“Yes. She seems nice.”
“Gramp thinks you should let her teach you how to do that dance for the wedding. So do I. I don’t get why you think it’s a bad idea.”
He smoothed out a crease in the blanket.
How was he supposed to explain the dangers of a hormone surge to a nine-year-old?
“I, uh, feel like we’ve taken too much advantage of her already.” A true, if not complete, answer.
“But I think she likes being around us.”
Which was also dangerous.
“It’s not that important, Isabel. Besides, I may not have to dance at the wedding. And if I do, I can get through one dance without a lesson.”
“Don’t you like to dance?”
“No. I don’t have any rhythm.” Or so Olivia had told him on multiple occasions.
