She cast an obvious look at Ford as she said this last bit. It was only fair that she give him advance warning of her intentions. Which was a mistake for a lot of reasons, but none of them as pressing as the fact that Ford Ford wasn’t a man who played fair.

“She’s going to whisk you away and tell you that she doesn’t love me,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “Apparently, she prefers men with more meat on their bones. I’m only just hearing about it now.”

“Ford!” Lila cried.

“It’s okay. Lucky for you, I prefer a woman who throws me an occasional curveball. Hey, Harrison—you have a minute? I have a few questions about your exercise regimen. Do all the men on your wildfire team look like you when they get started, or are some of them spindly nobodies like me? It’s for science.”

As he loped off in Harrison’s direction with every appearance of chatting about protein powder, bench presses, and firefighter lifestyles, Lila could only watch him go. Matters weren’t helped any when Helen wound her arm through Lila’s and led her toward the kitchen with a confidential air. “I don’t know how you do it, Princess Lila,” she said. “Walking and talking and working like a normal person. If Ford said half of those things to me, I’d be melted in a puddle at his feet.”

Yes, well. Perhaps that would be for the best. Then Ford might slip and have to be taken to the emergency room. Not even he could make one of those flapping blue hospital gowns look good.

She kept these reflections to herself, especially since the image of his bare backside was causing a sudden fluttering low in her belly. “You can just call me Lila,” she said instead.

“I know, but the princess part seems to make Emily happy.” Helen’s smile faltered. “It’s the least I can do. The poor little thing doesn’t like me very much. She never has.”

Lila could tell. She also had a strong suspicion as to why. The sentiment had its roots in those two words: poor and little. Oh, she was no child expert, obviously, but she’d spent enough time in the pediatric cancer ward when Sophie was young to realize that pity was the last thing any child with a serious health condition wanted to be given. Sympathy was theirs for the taking whenever they wanted it; being treated just like any other normal kid, however, was something to be cherished.

She was still trying to work out how to tactfully convey this to a woman she barely knew when Helen interrupted with a bright “So, how long have you two known each other, you and Ford?”