“You can drop the ‘mister.’ Or the Ford, but that might start to sound strange after a while. I suppose you could also call me Daddy, which is what Emily prefers, but—”

“Ford!” The schoolmarm pulled up to her full height. “I hardly think that’s an appropriate request, given the circumstances.” As if just realizing that there was a child standing at her knee watching the exchange with rapt attention, Lila drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, Emily.”

Without so much as a sign of wariness or hesitation, his daughter asked, “What for?”

It was wrong of him to take so much delight in the wash of expressions that moved over Lila’s stern face, but he couldn’t resist. She hadn’t been joking when she’d said Emily was one of the first kids she’d ever met. He’d never known anyone so obviously far out of her depth.

“Circumnavigation,” he said.

She blinked at him, those glorious eyes flashing. “What?”

“Perpetuity.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Antidisestablishmentarianism.”

She cast a quick look around. “Uh…”

“She’s six years old. Words with more than four syllables and double entendres tend to pass below the radar. I promise you’re safe with me.”

“Are you telling jokes again, Daddy?” Emily said. Witwhout waiting for an answer, she pulled Lila’s hand into her own. “He always tells jokes to ladies. They think he’s super funny.”

Lila cast him an arch look, although her face remained pointed at Emily’s. “They do, do they?”

“He doesn’t tell jokes to Principal Brown, though.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Or Mrs. Bates. She lives next door.”

“A model of restraint.”

“Or Grandma Louise.”

Lila’s lips twitched in what he suspected was the beginning of a smile. She vanquished it, though, causing a tiny indentation to appear at the corner of her mouth. A dimple. The princess-schoolmarm had a dimple—a tiny crack in an otherwise uncrackable exterior.

“How old is your principal, Emily?” she asked.

Ford straightened. He could guess where this was going, and it wouldn’t end well for him. “Oh, well, that’s not really—”

“Ninety? A hundred? I don’t know. She has gray hairs—lots of ’em.”

“So he doesn’t tell jokes to older ladies?” Lila asked.

“Nope.” His little traitor shook her head gravely. “Or ladies with husbands.”

There was no way to save himself now. Emily, that sweet little soul of discretion, a child who couldn’t look most adults in the face, let alone divulge his greatest sins to them, had betrayed all.

“Oh, look at that. My phone’s ringing.” He made a show of grabbing his cell phone out of his back pocket and holding it to his ear. “Yes, hello? It’s an emergency? You don’t say. What terrible timing. I guess I’ll have to drop everything and come running.”