Page 247 of Back in the Saddle

Maisie, along with her older sister Gracie, were horrified at their father’s statement, even though I’d noticed this happened a lot in the short time I’d been around them since their arrival the evening before. It nevertheless seemed lost on the girls it was a tease.

Luke would have a pink tree in a Barbie themed house if it made all his girls happy.

Though, he wouldn’t go out and buy it.

Sensing that was when I fell in love with Luke Stark.

“Daddeeeeeee,no!” Maisie screeched.

“Daddy!” Gracie cried in the horror a budding Victorian lady would use, lifting her hand to her throat and everything.

Cue the instalove with Gracie when I met her too. She had her father’s hair and dark-blue eyes, and it was clear she took her big-sister duties seriously. Therefore, we bonded on that score.

The two girls couldn’t be more different, with Gracie being quiet, observant, much more mature even if she was only nine, but having a talent with delivering understated dramatics that garnered deep respect from me.

On the other hand, Maisie was exuberant, talkative and had been given the gift I hoped she’d someday come to understand and appreciate: being the youngest, and as such, getting away with a good deal of shit.

It was borderline hilarious howGIRL!these two were when their father was the epitome of alpha masculinity.

That said, Ava was all girl too, in a womanly way. She was knockout gorgeous, with a curvy body, a head full of thick, blonde hair and a blatant attitude that sparked off Luke’s to such an extent, the sexual chemistry was thick in the air (that being theirs mingled with Eric’s and mine, obviously).

Though, I couldn’t say Maisie was wrong about Eric’s tree.

His actual tree was massive, both tall and very wide, and it was clear he’d hit a Michael’s or some such and bought every box of matte baubles in various manly shades of blue, some green, with gold and bronze thrown in. The ornaments were different sizes, so at least there was that. And there were a lot of them. As in,a lot.

But that morning, once Eric and Luke had dragged all the stuff out, and Ava and I took a look at what we had to work with, we’d loaded the girls up and did a run JoAnn’s and Michael’s where we scored some corresponding plaid wired ribbon with a thin gold trim and some sparkly-gold branches to spruce the thing up.

And Maisie had thrown a fit about that too. She was of a mind purple was a better contrasting color and declared we had to do “Something!” to save Eric’s tree, and plaid ribbon wasn’t her idea of what thatSomething!was.

We’d managed to quiet her down by purchasing some matte-gold moose (momma, poppa and baby) that had fake brown fur mufflers around their necks and some fluffy lit boughs to drape around his built-in TV unit (which necessitated us grabbing the rest of the plaid ribbon to make them match).

However, now that this was all about to come together, it seemed it didn’t appease little Miss Stark.

I stopped mid-arranging shrimp around the cocktail sauce I’d made, when Maisie pulled out the big guns, went to Eric, leaned into his side, reached up, grabbed his biceps beseechingly, and begged, “Uncle Eric,pleeeeeease, can we go to the store and get some of that purple ribbon I saw? It’ll beso perfecton your tree.”

Without hesitation, Eric stepped away from her but only to grab her hand and look at Gracie.

“Wanna come?”

Holy shit.

Gracie stopped petting Henny where they both were lounged on the sectional, popped to her feet and cried, “Yeah!”

Eric held his hand out to Gracie, she took it, and with all three of them attached, they headed to the door to the garage, both girls bouncing excitedly, and Eric looking through the adults as they moved out the door, saying, “We’ll be back.”

They disappeared, and not long later I heard the garage door engage and Eric’s Tahoe fire up.

“Get used to it,” Luke said from where he’d come to stand at the side of the island, taking me out of the stupor induced by what I just witnessed. “He spoils the shit out of them.”

“All their uncles do, it’s supremely annoying,” Ava groused. She stopped scraping the meatballs off the baking tray and onto the serving platter and looked to her husband. “Luke, that purple ribbon is not going to work on Eric’s tree.”

Luke stared at his wife like she was speaking a language he didn’t understand, and he was trying to decipher what she was saying through inflections and micro-expressions, before he noted, “Do you think Eric gives a shit?”

“That’s not the point,” Ava returned.

“What’s the point?” Luke shot back.

“Your daughter shouldn’t be allowed to dictate every proceeding she’s a part of,” Ava retorted.

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