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the door. Her eyes were the color of a stormy sea.
    For just a moment, he wondered what she’d look like with makeup, in a dress. Then he ruthlessly pushed that thought into the farthest corner of his mind.
    “Oh, hello.” She pushed the hair away from her eyes, bouncing her son on her hip. “Is it five already? I guess we lost track.”
    “Daddy!” Daisy yelled, cannon-balling into his knees.
    Lars gathered her up and gave her a hug. “Hi, Dais. Did you have a good time?”
    Daisy wriggled out of his arms, grabbing his hand on the way down. “C’mon, Daddy, come see the bow-wow.”
    “The bow-wow?” He turned back toward Ms. Carroll as Daisy towed him through the living room like a determined tugboat.
    “Bower,” she explained, as if he should know exactly what that meant.
    Daisy stopped in front of a deep window alcove full of pillows. It was covered in a velvet throw with an angel pattern, probably from Margaret Hastings’ angel shop downtown. “My bow-wow.” She pointed at a pile of pillows and picture books. “I sleep in there.”
    “Daisy takes her nap in the bower.” Ms. Carroll shifted her son to her other hip as she gestured at a mesh baby gate. “We raise the drawbridge.”
    The baby, Jack, looked up at him, grinning a guileless baby grin. Lars managed not to blink at his mother again. He figured it was best to just go with it. “I guess that keeps her in.”
    Daisy gave him a look of pure outrage. “No, Daddy. It keeps everybody out. Just me inside.”
    “Daisy decides when it comes down,” Ms. Carroll added. “And then she joins us.”
    He nodded. Better than razor wire.
    “And we read stories,” Daisy continued. “And I saw Mrs. Carroll’s booby!”
    There was a beat of absolute silence in the room except for Jack’s coos. Ms. Carroll’s face turned a very attractive shade of pink, Lars noted. Much better than blusher.
    “Okay. Well, time to go home, Dais,” he muttered. “Go get your coat.”
    He watched Daisy bounce off down the hall, black curls flying. No wonder Jack had been entranced.
    Behind him, Ms. Carroll cleared her throat. “I’m still nursing Jack. That’s what Daisy meant.”
    Lars turned back toward her. Her cheeks were still faintly pink, but her forehead was creased. She looked worried. It took him a moment to understand what she was worried about, and then he felt incongruously like laughing. “Right. Look, don’t worry, Ms. Carroll, I figured it was something like that. Daisy is a genius at saying things I really wish she wouldn’t.”
    She took a quick breath, then gave him a faint smile. “Maybe you should call me Jess.”
    He thought of telling her no, telling her they should keep their interactions strictly business. But instead he found himself saying, “Call me Lars.”
    “Okay, Lars.” Her smile widened slightly, just enough to delve those dimples in her cheeks.
    Daisy galloped back into the room, trailing her coat behind her. Jack chuckled with delight. “Can we go to the bar with Uncle Pete and Uncle Cal?” Daisy pleaded.
    He took a deep breath. “You can’t go into bars, Dais. I told you that.”
    “But Uncle Pete and Uncle Cal can. And Auntie Docia and Aunt Janie. Why can’t I?”
    He held the jacket for her, deftly inserting one of her arms in a sleeve. “Your uncles and aunts are all big people. When you’re big you can go to a bar.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Or not. That is, you might not want to. That is…”
    He glanced up at Jess. Her lips were pressed tight, as if she was trying very hard not to grin. Jack waved his arms desperately at Daisy, whimpering.
    “Time to go now, Dais,” Lars repeated, herding her gently toward the door.
    “Okay. Bye, Jack. Bye, Mrs. Carroll. See you tomorrow.” Daisy sailed through the door, giving Lars just enough time to aim a distracted grin in Jess’s general direction as he trotted after her.
    He grabbed Daisy’s hand before she got too far in front of him. “Slow down,