The Secret Wedding Dress. Roz Fox Denny

to give ground to her sister, especially after Dory had been the one to foist Chet off on her. “Look on the bright side, Dory. It’s become the thing to date younger men.” She ended the call before her sister could do more than sputter. Turning as she started to hang up the phone, Sylvie walked squarely into Joel Mercer. She felt a wave of heat emanating from his body and blindly aimed the receiver at the hook on the wall phone, but missed twice.

      Eyeing her curiously, Joel plucked the receiver from her limp grip and dropped it into place. “That was my sister,” she offered lamely.

      “I gathered. Is everything all right?”

      “Fine. Everything’s fine.” Sylvie shivered, stepped back and rubbed her bare upper arms.

      “Okay, then. It’s getting late, so Rianne and I will be on our way after she thanks you. We should hurry—she has to go to the bathroom.” He grinned crookedly. “I’m embarrassed to admit I already polished off every cookie on the plate.”

      Releasing a hand she’d clamped around her arm for stability, Sylvie waved down the hall. “Don’t make her walk all the way home for that. Rianne, honey, I have two bathrooms. The main one is down the hall, second door on your left. The other’s between the two rooms on your right. That’s for my guest bedrooms. And…uh…my sewing room.”

      “No need to trouble you.” Joel might as well have saved his breath. His daughter sailed past him, headed down the hall at a dead run.

      “Poor kid,” Sylvie murmured. “She had a glass of water earlier, and that huge glass of milk with the cookies. I should’ve pointed out the location of the bathrooms earlier.”

      “She’s not shy. She could’ve asked.”

      “At that age, ask a near stranger? Get outta here! Girls her age would burst rather than do that.”

      The look crossing Joel’s face was one of pure horror. “Why are girls so difficult?” he muttered.

      “You think she’s difficult at…what—six, seven? Wait until she reaches the dreaded teens.”