Free Fairytale Come Alive by Kristen Ashley Page B

watched her doing it.
    Isabella moved away and started preparations for the rest of dinner.
    Then, for some crazed reason that was beyond her to understand, she asked, “Is that your Mum’s guitar?”
    Then she wished she could take the words back.
    What was she thinking?
    Why’d she ask that?
    Why?
    “How’d you know that?” Jason’s voice was gruff.
    “It just looks like the one she used to lug around all the time,” Isabella mumbled, her mind tripping over itself to find another topic of conversation.
    “You knew my Mum?” Jason queried, sounding surprised.
    Oh Lord, now what had she done?
    Of course they didn’t know about her , the awful American who screwed over their father before he met and fell in love with their mother.
    That likely wasn’t bedtime story material.
    Oh well, she started it, she’d have to go with it.
    She turned from filling a pot with water at the sink to look at Jason. “Yes. A long time ago we used to be friends.”
    “Did you ever hear her play?” Jason asked and Isabella couldn’t help her reminiscent smile.
    She turned off the water and took the pot to the stove. “Yes, I’ve heard her play. She used to do it all the time. I was jealous of her. She was very talented.”
    “ You were jealous of Mum? ” Jason sounded incredulous and Isabella, surprised at his reaction, looked over her shoulder at him.
    He looked as incredulous as he sounded.
    She turned and walked up behind Sally, doing what she’d wanted to do since the moment she laid eyes on the girl. She pulled Sally’s long, soft hair back in both of her palms and then ran its length down Sally’s back through her hands.
    While she did this (and repeated it then repeated it again), she said with utter truthfulness, “Yes, Jason. Your Mum was hilariously funny and incredibly sweet and very, very talented. There was a good deal to be jealous of.” Isabella’s voice went quiet when she said, “She was also lovely. You and Sally got the best of her. I can see it all over you.” Then she paused before she finished on a smile, “But you have your father’s eyes.”
    “Daddy says I have Mummy’s eyes,” Sally announced and Isabella gave her a teasing tug of her hair as her heart lurched.
    “Yes, you do, sweetheart. You’re the spitting image of her,” Isabella told Sally, starting to look down at the child when she saw movement to her side.
    She looked to her right, saw Prentice arrive, resting a hip against the counter, crossing his arms on his chest and giving her a look filled with thunder.
    Before the breath could entirely evacuate her lungs at that look pinned on her, Jason shouted, “Sally, you’re supposed to –!”
    Too late.
    When Isabella looked down, she saw that Sally had started to shake the chicken in the Ziploc bag but hadn’t locked it shut. There were flour and chicken bits all over the counter, down the cabinets, all over the floor and also, top-to-toe, all over Sally.
    Isabella stepped to the side as Sally slowly turned toward her, the mostly empty Ziploc bag still in her hands.
    Sally was covered in white.
    Isabella stared down at her and Sally, head tipped back, stared back.
    Then, Isabella couldn’t help it, the girl looked too adorable for words and the situation merited it, she threw back her head and burst out laughing.
    She heard Sally’s giggles and Jason’s muttering of, “Totally mental.”
    His words made her mirth boil over again and, with eyes nearly shut with laughter, she leaned down, put her hands on either side of Sally’s head and dipped her face to the child’s.
    “You look like a snow angel,” she told her.
    “I do?” Sally asked.
    Isabella nodded, still giggling, then reached out and picked a chicken strip off Sally’s shoulder and showed it to her. “A snow angel with chicken bits.”
    Sally giggled harder and so did Isabella.
    “I take it we’re not having chicken anymore,” Jason asked dryly.
    Isabella looked toward Jason and burst into renewed