The singers were all were coached by the same statuesque African-American woman who accompanied each either at the piano or on an acoustic guitar. Hayes suffered through the individual performances. All of the kids could carry a tune alright, but none of them could hope to make it past the first round of an American Idol competition no matter what their proud, smiling, nearly smug parents who filled the pews thought. Well, except Maren, of course. She was the star. Hayes figured he was as bad as the other proud mamas and papas, except, his daughter really was talented.

Three boys and four girls each were spotlighted before Maren took on a Toni Braxton song. Hayes watched her, his little girl, only twelve years old, belting out a number like a pro. She’d barely developed, still wore braces, but she was as beautiful as her mother and a helluva lot more talented.

Maren moved to the music, her mocha-colored skin shimmering under the lights. Her straightened hair streamed down her back, and her dark brown eyes seemed impossibly large and expressive in her sweet face. She was tall and thin, like both her parents, her newfound curves in proportion, her dimples “cute” rather than sexy. At least he hoped so.

She sang a soulful rendition of “Unbreak My Heart” that nearly brought down the house, then finished with the upbeat Whitney Houston song “How Will I Know?”

Hayes jumped to his feet and clapped wildly. After the bows and brief words of thanks from Miss Bette, Hayes carried some flowers he’d picked up at Safeway to the stage and handed them to his daughter. Maren’s gasp of delight and Delilah’s cool look of surprise said it all.

“Good job, honey! You were incredible. Move over, Mariah Carey.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” one of the other mothers muttered.

“Oh, Dad.” Maren rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop that infectious grin from stealing across her lips. “I thought you were working.”

“I was.”

“Mom said you wouldn’t come.”

Hayes shot his ex a quick don’t-do-this glare. “Mom was wrong.” He hugged his daughter.

“I just didn’t want her to be disappointed again,” Delilah said.

Hayes wasn’t going to be pulled into it. Not here. Not now. “Well, she wasn’t. What do you say I take you out for pizza?”

He expected Delilah to argue that it was too late, or that Maren had homework, but instead she stiffly agreed. There was no doubt that she could be a bitch sometimes, but Hayes believed her motives were all about protecting Maren. She might’ve turned into a grumbling, unhappy, never-satisfied wife, but Delilah was still a damned good mother.

For that, he supposed, he should be thankful.