“A very gifted artist with her camera,” Dillon replied. “I have the impression she’s actually coming into her own.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Her jobs in LA were at least partly the result of her husband—”
“Ex-husband. Speaking for all women everywhere, there has never been a more important prefix since the discovery of language.”
“May I continue?”
“Look. You’re talking to the mayor. I’m required by law to correct men who don’t know how to say what they mean.”
Dillon started to reply that he now understood what Elena had been talking about. But the trace of past tears was still there on Bailey’s cheeks, so he merely asked, “You’ve seen Olivia’s portrait of the family?”
“The one in Gleason’s window.” Bailey nodded. “The whole town is talking. Far as I’m concerned, it ranks up there with the candles in the hope department.”
“Tell her that, okay? Olivia needs to hear it. Especially coming from you.”
“Duly noted. Back to my question.”
“Whatever comes from her photography here in Miramar, it’s all due to her talent. This is her chance to fly solo. If she’s successful, it’s because she made it happen.”
Bailey passed the town’s main supermarket, drove down rain-slick streets, and finally responded. “It seems to me the same might be said about you. The Dillon who arrived here with his own hard-luck tale. And the guy who is doing his best to save our town from bankruptcy.”
He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“And?”
“My grandmother used to say Miramar was a town made for second chances.”
“All you had to do was move beyond the past, and grab hold of the hour when it came,” Bailey agreed. “I’ve heard that all my life.”
But Dillon was still caught by those earlier times. “My grandmother learned never to say that in front of my dad. He’d start shouting and throwing things. Then toke on his bowl and snarl at the world until he passed out.”
Bailey waited until she approached a stop sign to turn and say, “That was another time. The Dillon here beside me is all grown up. There are all sorts of second chances just waiting to pounce.”
The car remained silent until Bailey pulled through the police station’s main gates. She parked, turned off the engine, and said, “Back to the personal angle I’ve been dancing around.”
Dillon did not pretend to be in the dark. “Me and Olivia.”
She slid around, tucked one knee on the central console, faced him squarely. “And?”
“Friends to the end.”
“As in, friends with benefits?”
Which was just like the Bailey he’d grown up liking so very, very much. “If that chance arrives, and I don’t think it will. But if it does, I hope the ghosts of Christmas past will be enough to warn me off.” He gave her a chance to respond, then asked, “Will you tell me what this thing is, concerning her? I mean, you know, other than the obvious.”
“It’s best if she hears it first.”
Dillon nodded. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“I was just thinking the very same thing.”
“Please tell your daughter I can still feel her kiss on my cheek.”
Bailey’s eyes gleamed copper-dark as she reached over and placed her hand on the exact same spot. “You’ll remember what I said earlier.”
“About chances,” Dillon replied. “And not pouncing if a certain door creaks open.”
She released him, settled behind the wheel, and restarted the car. “You bet your bippy.”
