For the first time in a long time, Alice really looked at the little bag. She’d bought it at the Musée de l’Orangerie when she and Lawrence had spent two idyllic weeks in Paris visiting galleries big and small, famous and unknown. Back then, she thought she needed Lawrence to live a full and rounded life. She’d since realized he’d stifled her creativity and trampled her self-confidence. Now, she was proud of not only surviving without him, but of creating her own job opportunities in art, like winning the artist-in-residence gig. That she didn’t need Lawrence hurt a lot less than no longer needing this little water lily bag.

She handed it to Holly. “This is yours now, unless you’d prefer something sparkly for your pads?”

“No, I love it. Thank you!” Holly unzipped the bag and pulled out a liner, turning the small rectangle over in her hand. “So, I put this in my panties?”

“You peel off the wrapper and press the sticky side down. When your dad buys you your proper pads, the heart goes at the top and the wings—”

“Can you buy them?” Holly asked at the same time Harry said, “I could do with some help.” Both sounded equally desperate.

“I bet if you help, Dad will buy you the satay chicken for dinner,” Holly added.

“And I won’t make you share it either,” Harry said, laughter reaching his eyes.

The heady delight of being valued filled Alice, but her mother’s comment about being convenient rose unbidden into her mind. She banished it. Over many months, she’d eaten with the Waxmans, played with them and done art with them. Hell, today she’d admitted to Harry she was menopausal—something she was yet to tell her own family. No, this request had nothing to do with convenience and everything to do with friendship.

Even so, she thought she better lay down some ground rules. “Tell you what. I’ll come and help as long as I’m teaching you to fish.”

Holly glanced up at Harry, clearly confused.

“She means she’ll come shopping with us and explain stuff, but next time we shop on our own.”

“You better listen, Dad.”

Alice laughed. “You too, Holly.”

“I’m not buying them! That’s Dad’s job.”

It was classic teen horror, but Harry didn’t bat an eye. “How about you go and get yourself sorted and then we’ll head out.”

“Okay.” Holly stopped at the doorway. “You’re coming to dinner too, right, Alice?”

“You bet I am. I’ve been promised satay.”

The moment Holly left the room, Harry said, “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Happy to help,” she said lightly, trying to counter his serious tone.

“You help in more ways than you realize,” he said softly.