that showcased her long, tanned legs and a raspberry-colored tank top. Her hair was now caught up in a free-falling ponytail. The outfit shaved half a dozen years off her age, reminding him again of how young she was.
He swallowed against a tight throat. “That was fast.”
She shrugged. “My mother believes in a woman being herself. Too many lotions and potions breed vanity…or so she claims. I started sneaking mascara and lip gloss when I was fourteen.”
“Such a rebel,” he teased.
“I tried to behave. I really did, because I adored my mother, even as a bratty teenager. But I wanted to be like all the other girls.”
“Not such a terrible failing.”
“I suppose not. But she came home from work early one day before I’d had a chance to wash my face, and she was so…”
“Angry?”
“No. Not that. It was worse. I had disappointed her. She told me that it was a mistake for a girl to primp and paint herself to attract a boy. That I should be proud of who I was inside. That the exterior didn’t matter.”
“Wise words.”
“Yes. But they came from a place of pain. I never knew the details, though it was no secret that my father abandoned her before I was born. When it came to love, she had chosen poorly, and she paid for it the rest of her life. My goal has been to earn enough money to set her up in a little retirement flat. I owe her so much. And I want to give her a chance to enjoy life while she is still strong and healthy.”
“You’re a good daughter.”
For a fleeting second he witnessed a surprising vulnerability in her aquamarine eyes. “I hope so.”
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