"No wonder your dad was proud of you."

She laughed. "You mean you're not horrified by my automatic violent reaction?"

"Are you kidding? I want my daughter to have that exact same reaction if some snot-nosed little douchebag does that to her." As she turned to look at him in surprised pleasure, he continued to read his way through her life. "'Angel, seven. Played flawless Fur Elise at first piano recital. My kid's a genius!' d.a.m.n, Angel." Again Twist looked back at her, and though she couldn't decipher the softening expression in his dark eyes, it made her tingle in an all-over body blush. "I didn't know you played the piano."

"I haven't played in a while. I'm sure I'm rusty." Dragging her gaze from his, she held up a dusty can of sardines. "I don't remember ever having sardines in this house, and this can smells vaguely like cinnamon. How old do you think these are?"

"If you can't find an expiration date, I'd toss 'em, just to be safe." As she examined the tin before tossing it in a trash bag, he turned his attention back to the growth chart. "'Front tooth lost for Angel, coinciding with first flash of adult cynicism. Apparently believing in the Tooth Fairy is lame.'" He frowned at the notation before sliding her a narrow-eyed glance. "You did believe in Santa though, right?"

"Not really. But since it made my parents happy, I did my best to fake it."

He shook his head. "They didn't try hard enough with you, obviously."

"Try hard enough? What do you mean?"

"You were an intelligent kid who wasn't going to just believe something you were told. You were going to question it and look for proof, but they didn't bother to give you any. My kids, though... When I have kids, they're gonna believe in Santa and Rudolph and Comet all those other reindeer, the Easter Bunny, and even the Great Pumpkin, if I can manage it. They're going to have that irritating Elf on a Shelf pulling crazy s.h.i.t all over the house, and sometimes their toys are going to randomly come alive overnight, just to keep them on their toes. I want them to have all those magical memories that'll fire up their imaginations, and if I have to dress up as a fat guy in a red suit to make it happen, I'm totally down with that."

Her throat was suddenly too tight to let air pa.s.s as she imagined a doting Twist going to extreme lengths to make special memories for bright-eyed, overexcited little ones. It was such a beautiful mental picture that she almost didn't want to let it go. That alone alarmed her, and she made herself shut out those loving, perfect images that made her ache deep down inside before she began to wonder what those little ones would look like if she were their mother...

When she realized he was watching her intently, that all-over body tingling got worse. Nervously she cleared her throat and made herself get back to work. "You're going to be a great father someday, you know. You've got good dad instincts."

"I was raised by a great guy. And flawed though he obviously was, I think your father had a few good dad instincts too."

That made her pause. "You think?"

"Yeah, I do. Most people chart their children's growth on their birthdays, and leave it at that. Your dad chose to do that as well, plus he recorded individual moments like-" He leaned in to read a mark near the top. "'First heartbreak for my precious Angel, twelve, because of an idiot not fit to breathe her air.' And there's a cartoon of a drooling monkey-boy picking his nose and wearing a Dunce's cap."

"Really?" She was back to staring at his handsome face, because really, there was nothing else she wanted to see. "Special milestones don't usually get charted as well?"

"Not like this. This is like a highlight reel of your life."

"That's how I thought these things were done."

"It's definitely how I'm going to do it with my kids when they come around." He went to the final measurement mark. "'Angel, twelve years, nine months. Announced she wants a GROWN-UP party for her thirteenth b-day... because she'll be a GROWN-UP teenager.' And there's another cartoon of the curlicue baby, this time throwing a fit."

"Like you said, my father's a riot."

That had him throwing a grin her way. "Did you get your grown-up birthday party?"

She shook her head. "My parents split up a couple weeks before my birthday, so I personally called everyone on the invitation list and canceled it. When my mother found out what I'd done, she burst into tears and was inconsolable for the rest of that night. At the time I thought it was because she'd been looking forward to the party and was disappointed, and I felt so guilty. Now, of course, I understand that she was crying for me."

He searched her face for a while before glancing back at that final mark. "I wonder if your father knows you did that."

"Who knows? At that time he had other things on his mind, so I doubt it."

"I don't know. The man who did all this loved you very much, because this is clearly a labor of love." When she didn't answer with anything more than a shrug, he moved over to the kitchen counter and plucked up the Sharpie she'd been marking boxes with. "Stand up against the jamb for a second."

She glanced at the marker in his hand and understood immediately. "Twist, don't be silly. I'm working."

"This'll only take a second. Come on." He pulled her by the elbow when she didn't move, setting aside the can of yams she held before positioning her back against the growth chart. "Stand up nice and tall."

"This is ridiculous."

"No, it's not, little girl. It's finishing what was started from the day you were born. The way I see it, this is too important not to finish."

Her heart somersaulted in her chest at that, and her brain staggered into silence at what he considered important. "It's all going to be painted over this upcoming Monday, so it doesn't matter. Besides, I'm all grown up now."

"That's why it does matter, babe." Placing the pen flat on the crown of her head, she felt him take careful measure. "Huh. You were either a tall twelve year old then, or you're a short twenty-three year old now, because there's not much difference from then to now."

"I'm not short." She looked up into his face, shadowed with his usual days-old scruff that her hand itched to stroke, and something achingly sweet moved through her at how seriously he considered the task of measuring her. "I'm way taller than I was at twelve years and nine months old."

"An almost grown-up thirteen-year-old." She watched the corners of his mouth curl, and the surprising gentleness in it was so beautiful she wanted to freeze that moment in time so she could look at his masculine beauty forever. "I bet you were a handful as a tween."

"You'd lose that bet. I never gave my mother a moment of trouble."

"My parents would've loved that. Then again, you were so small at that age, any trouble you stirred up probably wouldn't have been noticed."

"I wasn't that small."

"You're only three or four inches taller now than you were back then, whereas I'm now a foot taller than I was at that age, easy."

"Boys are different from girls."

"Ain't that the truth." His head lowered, until she could feel the delicious caress of his breath across her lips, exciting her outrageously. She was so intent on making sure he didn't hear her suddenly uneven breathing she nearly suffocated. "Have I ever told you what a personal turn-on it is for me to have such a delicate little thing like you against me? When you're with me like this, I feel like I could conquer the world for you."

"There goes that caveman in you." And heaven help her, she became more and more captivated by that caveman with each pa.s.sing moment. "When it comes to delicate little things like me, your protective instincts are stuck in overdrive."

"Not all delicate little things, Angel. Just you." His head inched lower, his mouth hovering over hers. "You gonna make me go all the way down there to get that pretty mouth of yours?"

Automatically she stretched her neck, eager for the taste of him. She felt a quick movement on top of her head before his mouth was on hers as if it was his main ambition in life to imprint the feel of her lips onto his. After a long, deep kiss that promised a mult.i.tude of good things to come, he raised his head and looked beyond her. "That should do it."

She looked behind her at the measurement mark he'd made, then watched in stunned amazement as he deftly doodled a caricature that was obviously her, complete with long pale hair, a few dreadlocks and a cute little pair of angel wings. He did it in less than a couple of minutes, with such sure strokes of not even thinking about what to do next that it seemed as though he'd drawn that image a thousand times before and could have done it blindfolded.

"There were go. Now, a caption." He frowned at it a moment before he leaned in and wrote in his distinctive hand, "Angel, twenty-three, who long ago left the nest, now wings toward building a nest of her own." He finished it off with the signature the entire world of ink knew, then studied it with a satisfied air. "Now it's complete."

She stared at the final mark and the message, before wrapping her arms around his waist without giving it a thought. There was something so satisfying in looking at the marks, a collection of individual moments that made up the entirety of who she was. To have Twist put the final touch on it seemed oddly appropriate, and it filled her with a fizzy, fuzzy warmth that made her want to hold onto him and never let go.

"It's perfect." His arm came around her shoulders to give her a squeeze, and the fizzy, fuzzy warmth ballooned with such exquisite intensity her eyes stung with it. "Too bad it's going to be erased by painters."

"Give me the number of the handyman who's coming in next Monday so I can let him know I want this doorframe. I'll pay for the work of having it removed and having another doorframe installed," he added with an unconcerned shrug when her head whipped up so she could goggle at him. "I'm not about to let your personal history get wiped out, little girl. This is you," he added, reaching out his free hand to brush the marks beneath his that were still drying. "No way am I letting these parts of you get erased like they don't matter. They do matter, more than anything in this entire house. Besides, I need a template for when I do this once my kids come along, right?"

He let her go after dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head, and left her in stunned silence. The warmth inside grew so huge it crushed even the breath in her lungs and every thought in her head, save one.

Twist, and those giggling, overexcited children with whom he'd one day make growth charts and memories and wonder-filled magic.

Chapter Thirteen.

"Everything from the kitchen that's being donated is packed up in the vestibule, ready for pickup. Everything else has been either boxed up and marked for the movers, or trashed. The kitchen is officially done." With a sigh, Angel wandered into what Twist thought of as the piano room, glancing at her phone as she went. "We've just about run out of time here, if you're still determined to drive me home before heading to work."

He watched her tuck her phone away before she melted bonelessly onto the piano bench. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, he could tell she was done in. "Of course I am."

"If you left me here while you go on ahead to that media thingy Payne's got lined up for you at the House, I would be able to pack up a lot of the office. That means I'd be almost done with all this packing c.r.a.p."

"No."

"Twist-"

"I'm not leaving you here so you can work yourself into a coma. And as far as I'm concerned, you should just walk the h.e.l.l away from all this so-called packing c.r.a.p. Let your parents deal."

She dragged a weary hand through her hair. "Noted. Now, about you heading out while leaving me-"

"Not gonna happen, little girl, so save your breath."

That patented I'm-not-getting-my-way scowl he knew so well darkened her otherwise angelic face. "The movers will be here in three days."

"Not my problem, or yours if you want to get technical about it. Did you really used to know how to play that thing?" He nodded to the piano, hoping to distract her from something that wasn't going to change.

The glare she gave him told him without words that he wasn't fooling her in the least. "I can still play it, and it is my problem, since the longer I have to handle my parents' c.r.a.p, the longer I have to deal with my parents. This doesn't make me happy. In fact, it makes me about as far from happy as you can possibly get."

"You'd be even unhappier if you exhausted yourself, got dizzy and took a header down the jillions of stairs this place has, and no one around to help you when you need it the most."

"I'm not going to fall."

"d.a.m.n right you're not, because I'm getting you the h.e.l.l out of here before any of that can happen."

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "You're impossible."

"When it comes to looking out for you, I plead guilty. Now," he added when she turned to him with the air of a woman who wanted to argue just as much as she wanted to take a nap, he nodded again to the piano, "how about you put your money where your mouth is, and show me you really do know your way around a keyboard?"

"Do you have time for this?"

"I'm making the time."

With a long-suffering sigh, she turned to face the piano, apparently resigning herself to her fate with grudging grace. "Do you have any requests?"

"Anything but Chopsticks. I won't be impressed with Chopsticks."

"I think I can do better than that." With a quick flex of her fingers she set them on the keys to run through a quick, surprisingly beautiful trill of a scale.

Whoa.

After a brief pause she began, and a melancholy, painfully beautiful tune flowed out, as soft as a gentle breeze. Surprise moved through him, immediately followed by a deep wave of awe, and for a heartbeat he thought about going over and flinging open the top of the piano to hear the notes all the more clearly.

She was good. Unbelievably, concert-ready good.

He'd had no idea.

The heartbreaking, soul-sweet melody she played was one he didn't recognize, but it didn't sound like any cla.s.sical piece he'd ever heard. There was longing and sadness and hope threading through it, and as he watched her face something astounding occurred to him-she wasn't really there in the room with him anymore. She was somewhere else, in a rich dream world better than Alice's, better than any place he'd ever been. She was in that place that was a part of her art, something he wasn't sure anyone had ever truly been allowed to share, because wherever it was, it existed on a separate plane that belonged solely to Angel.

That she had relaxed her guard enough to let him see this very private side of her made every muscle in his body thrum.

Without fully realizing it, his feet carried him to stand behind her as the song trailed off in lingering, hopeful strains. When the last note faded into silence, the otherworldly magic that had flowed without effort from her fingers wrapped around him and wouldn't let go.

He didn't want it to.

"Angel." Never before had he realized how aptly she was named. With a reverence he didn't bother to hide, he cupped her shoulders and dropped his mouth to the pale crown of her head. "That was incredible."

"Thanks." When she leaned back against him, he had to lock his muscles in place to keep from plucking her off the bench and crushing her to him like the caveman she'd accused him of being. "That was the one Yanni song I let myself play for my mom. She was a huge fan, but to a teenager Yanni was so not cool."

"You gotta be kidding me." There was no way he could hold back a short burst of laughter. "Are you serious? That was Yanni? No wonder I didn't recognize it."

"Please don't tell anyone I know a Yanni song. My street cred would flatline."

"Your secret's safe with me." He slid his lips to her cheek, his hands gliding down her arms. "What's the name of it?"

"'Until the Last Moment.'"

"Sounds like someone took pain and yearning, love and life and mashed it all together, and that music was the end product."

She shifted to shoot him a surprised glance. "My mom would agree with you, but I always thought it sounded more like... I don't know. An intense struggle of some kind, with all these crazy ups and downs, before it ultimately finds a way to end in triumph."

"You don't think love is a struggle?"

She shrugged. "I never really thought about it. Falling in love is something that just sort of happens. Like gravity."

"Falling in love, yeah." He ran the tips of his fingers over her upper arms, and smiled when she shivered. Promising. Very promising. "People fall in love every single day. That's the easy part. What's difficult as h.e.l.l is keeping it going, and with life getting in the way-jobs, family, friends, exes, money and whatever other s.h.i.t that's out there-it's harder than ever. And then there's the problem of working it so that the person you love falls in love with you. Trickiest thing in the book, that one. And if it doesn't work..." He shook his head. "It's like living through a daily h.e.l.l on earth."

Her head angled toward his, her lips coming within kissing range. "You mean unrequited love?"

"Yeah, I mean unrequited love. The most painful-and the most insanely devoted-kind of love there is."

"Why insanely?"

"There's no guarantee that what you're feeling is ever going to be returned. But you love with everything in you anyway, not getting a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing out of it while you sacrifice your peace of mind, your happiness, even your f.u.c.king sleep because the one you want doesn't want you back." For a moment he dipped his head and breathed in the scent of her hair. There was no scent on earth like it, flowers and spice and pure Angel. "If that isn't insane, I don't know what is."

She leaned deeper against him. "You sound like you know a lot about it."

"All I know is that a thing like love only works right when it's balanced between two people who're giving it their all, in equal amounts. Otherwise the balance is off and everything falls to s.h.i.t." He kept gliding his fingers down her forearms all the way to her hands resting in her lap. He picked them up and pressed them gently against the keys, an act that made a note sound softly before fading away. "Play it again. You'll hear what I mean."

She began to play without another word while he trailed his hands back up her arms, reveling in her silken softness. The music poured into the nearly empty room while his hands continued up her shoulders to tangle in the waving thickness of her hair. Slowly he bunched it up and held it to one side, exposing her neck. That s.e.xy line was too much for him to resist, so he didn't, bending low to open his mouth on her neck and tasting her with a swirl of his tongue.

Ah. So that was what more tasted like.