High Noon

after refusing all opinions, she pulled out her all-purpose black dress. If it was good enough for weddings, funerals and the occasional cocktail party, it was good enough for a dinner date.
    The fashionista gene had skipped a generation, she decided with some irritation, along with the curls and dimples.
    She started to put her hair up, but fiddling with it made her think of the rudely shorn hair on the doll. She left it down. And while she knew her family would have preferred a little time to grill her date—and for Phoebe to make an entrance down the stairs—she made sure she was in the parlor well before seven.
    And at the door first when the bell rang.
    “Hello, Duncan.”
    “First let me say: Wow. Then, hello, Phoebe.”
    She stepped back, raised her eyebrows at the nosegay of pink rosebuds he carried. “You already sent me flowers, which are gorgeous, by the way.”
    “Glad you liked them. This isn’t for you.” He glanced around the foyer. “I like your house.”
    “We do, too.”
    “Phoebe, aren’t you going to invite the man past the foyer, introduce him?” Essie stepped out of the parlor, aimed a smile at Duncan. “I’m Essie Mac Namara, Phoebe’s mother.”
    “Ma’am.” He took the hand she offered. “It sounds like a line, but has to be said anyway. I can see where Phoebe gets her impressive looks.”
    “Thank you. I’m pleased it had to be said. Come on into the parlor. My son and his wife aren’t here, but I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family. Ava, this is Phoebe’s friend Duncan.”
    “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
    “Phoebe didn’t mention so many beauties in the family. She did mention you.” He smiled over at Carly. “I went for pink.” He held out the flowers.
    “Isn’t that sweet!” Essie had already melted. “Carly, this is Mr. Swift. And I believe those are your first roses from a gentleman caller.”
    The sulky child tumbled into a coy female. “They’re mine?”
    “Unless you hate pink.”
    “I like pink.” She flushed nearly the color of the buds she took from him. “Thank you. Gran, can I pick a vase for them myself? Can I?”
    “Of course you can. Mr. Swift, can I offer you something to drink?”
    “Duncan. I—”
    “We should go,” Phoebe interrupted. “The dazzle in here’s getting blinding.” She picked up a jacket from the back of a chair. “I won’t be late.”
    “Ouch,” Duncan said.
    Ignoring him, Phoebe bent to kiss Carly’s cheek. “Behave.”
    “You enjoy yourselves,” Essie said. “And Duncan, you be sure to come back.”
    “Thanks. Next time I’ll have to bring a meadow. Nice to meet you all.”
    Phoebe knew very well there were three faces plastered to the parlor window when Duncan opened the car door for her. She sent him a thoughtful look, then slipped inside.
    She sent him the same look when he got behind the wheel. “Are you trying to clear the path by charming my daughter?”
    “Absolutely. Now that I know about your mother and Ava, I’ll work on them.”
    “Now I have to decide whether to appreciate your honesty or be insulted by it.”
    “Let me know when you make up your mind. Meanwhile, do you hate boats?”
    “Why?”
    “Because if you hate boats I need to make an adjustment. So, do you?”
    “No, I don’t hate boats.”
    “Good.” He flipped out a cell phone, punched a number. “Duncan. We’re on the way. Good. Great. Thanks.” He clicked it closed. “Your daughter looks like your mother. The dimples missed you.”
    “To my great sadness.”
    “How’s Ava related?”
    “Not by blood, but she’s still family.”
    He nodded in a way that told her he understood completely. “And you have an older brother.”
    “Younger. Carter’s younger.”
    “Okay. Do he and his wife live in that great house with you, too?”
    “No, they have their own place. What made you think to bring Carly roses?”
    “Ah…Well, I don’t know much about seven-year-old girls, and didn’t know if this specific one went for dolls or footballs. There was also the possibility you’re one of those sugar Nazis, so that eliminated the candy route. Figured I sent you flowers, and she’d probably get a kick out of getting some, too. Is there a problem?”
    “No. No. I’m complicating it, and it was a sweet gesture. She’ll never forget it. A girl doesn’t forget the first time a man gives her flowers.”
    “I don’t have to marry her or anything, do I?”
    “Not for another twenty years.”
    After