Cinderella's Sweet-Talking Marine

A meal at a fast-food place was a special treat as far as Amy was concerned. “No, we’re going someplace even better.”

“I didn’t know there was any place better.”

“Would you like to join us, Frenchie?” Ben asked the older woman.

“How sweet of you to invite me, but no thank you. The cable station is running an Antonio Banderas movie marathon. I can’t miss that.”

Ellie hugged her. “Thanks again for taking care of Amy, Frenchie.”

“It’s nothing, ma chère. Enjoy your evening out. You deserve it.”

Amy raced across the hall to the door to their second-story apartment. Ben picked up her backpack and held the door open for Ellie after she’d unlocked and opened it.

“I…uh, I’ll just be a minute or two. You’re welcome to sit down and watch TV while I change.” She gestured toward the couch and tried not to imagine how the place looked to Ben. Not that Marines were that interested in interior decorating. But he probably noticed that there wasn’t much furniture. “I won’t be long. Come on, Amy.”

Ellie had her daughter sit on her bed with one of her favorite books. Then Ellie grabbed some clean clothes from her own bedroom before returning to the bathroom. The tobacco smoke that clung to Ellie’s skin and hair as a result of working at Al’s wasn’t good for Amy. It wasn’t particularly good for Ellie either, but her requests for a larger no-smoking area had resulted in her boss laughing at her.

Ellie rinsed off the bargain shampoo and turned off the faucet before reaching for a towel. She used the hair blower for about three minutes before turning it off and quickly braiding her still-damp hair into a single braid.

It didn’t take her long to get dressed in the clothes she’d grabbed. Her wardrobe choices were extremely limited. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought new clothes. Any extra money was spent on getting things for Amy. Which was fine by her. That was as it should be in her book.

Ellie tugged on a pair of black capri pants and a red knit top. She stuck her feet into the pair of sandals she’d picked up for a song at a discount store in the after-season sales a year or two ago.

A quick check in the bathroom mirror told her that she looked clean and respectable. Good. That’s what she was aiming for. She added just a tad of makeup—a quick swipe of some eyeshadow and lipstick and then she was ready.

“Mommy, are you done yet?” Amy demanded from right outside the door.

“All ready.” Ellie stepped out of the bathroom.

Looking over from the sports segment on the TV, Ben immediately rose to his feet. “You look nice.”

Ben figured his words sounded lame, because the truth was that Ellie looked better than nice. And she smelled like fresh lemons. He got a whiff as she walked past him to get her jacket and purse from a hook near the front door.

“Allow me.” He took the denim jacket from her hands and held it for her to slide her arms into.

She shot him a startled glance over her shoulder.

“Mommy, why do you need help getting dressed? I thought you knew how.”

“I do know how. Ben is just being polite.” She quickly reached back but had trouble finding the arm-holes. Her fingers bumped against the side of his leg. “Sorry about that.” Now he’d think she was an idiot who couldn’t even get a jacket on properly.

“No problem.” He moved closer to smoothly guide her into the jacket. His hands rested on her shoulders for a moment. She felt his fingers brush against her bare skin as he lifted her braid from beneath the denim. Awareness streaked through her entire body starting at the contact point at her nape, racing down her spine and curling her toes. “There. How’s that?”

How was it? Entirely too provocative. She was supposed to be keeping her objectivity here. Not melting.

Ellie didn’t relax until they were seated at a table in the steak house. Amy was gazing at the children’s menu as if she were able to read every word. She’d brought two dolls with her and she had them gazing at the menu with equal intentness.

“Do you want the chicken fingers?” Ellie asked Amy. Luckily her daughter didn’t suffer from serious food allergies the way a lot of children with asthma did.

“I want octypuss,” Amy proudly declared.

Ellie blinked. “What?” There were times when her child said things that came completely from another planet and this was one of them.

“Octypuss.”

“They don’t serve octopus here.”

“Frenchie told me she ate some in Paris.”

“When you’re as old as Frenchie then you can have octopus.”

Amy’s face scrunched up. “I’ll be two hundred by then.”

Ellie tried not to laugh. “No, you won’t. Now do you want chicken fingers or a hot dog?” Maybe a steak house wasn’t that different from a fast-food place, from a kid’s point of view.

“Chicken fingers. But no beans. No beans, Mommy. I don’t like broccoli either. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

After they’d placed their orders, Amy eagerly leaned forward toward Ben. “Do you want to play with my Barbie? I’ve got two.” She offered him one.

Ben didn’t have the heart to tell the kid no.

“My Barbie works at the hops-ital,” Amy declared. “Where does your Barbie work?”

“She’s a Marine.”

“What does she wear?”

“A uniform.”

“Is she going to end up in heaven like my Uncle Johnny?”

His gut clenched. “Not until she’s old and gray.”

“Can she work at the hops-ital with my Barbie?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, then. You go first.” When he looked at a total loss, the little girl added, “Your Barbie talks to my Barbie.”

“Hello.”

Amy frowned. “You have to make her sound more like a girl.”

“Hello.” His voice rose to a higher pitch.

“What’s your name?”