There was the silent-treatment option, where she could've given him surly looks and refused to speak to him while smiling at everyone else. But Emma would've been seriously hacked off if she did that, and she preferred to avoid another lecture about respect.

She even considered the needy-orphan routine, where she'd hang on him and thank him for agreeing to be her daddy. She figured that would get him running out the door the fastest, but it was the one gag she didn't have the cojones to pull off.

That left her with being herself. Totally lame-o, she knew, but it was too late to do anything about it. She was already at the door, wearing her low-rise Mudd jeans, her Dr. Martens, and an Old Navy stretch top with a big purple butterfly appliqué. Her hair was up in a clip. Her hand was on the old brass doorknob. She opened the door.

Wow.

"Leelee?"

He bent a little at the waist and smiled down at her-wow again. He was so big!

"I'm Thomas. It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah. Whatever. Come in if you have to." God-give him a mustache and he looked like that hot old eye doctor dude from the Friends reruns.

Then Emma rounded the corner from the kitchen and Leelee tried to make her exit.

"Wait, please."

A big hand came down on her shoulder and she turned to see that Thomas the Tongue was handing her the flowers. What-was she the maid now?

"Okay. I'll put these in a vase for Emma."

"They're for you, Elizabeth," he said, smiling, and Leelee felt her eyeballs basically pop out-and she wasn't sure if it was because no one had ever given her flowers before or because she'd just gotten a load of his dimples.

"Really?" Oh, God, she sounded like a complete loser. "Whatever. Thanks." She nearly ran to the kitchen because she was seriously embarrassed and she didn't want him to know she was smiling like a dweeb-besides, she had no desire to watch the two of them kiss again.

So why was she peeking around the kitchen door, spying on them?

"Hey, Emma," Thomas said. Emma stood there smiling like she wanted to jump into his arms. Leelee was in serious danger of spewing.

"Hi. Ready to disco the night away?" Emma asked.

"I'm a dancin' machine. Watch me get down," Thomas answered.

Leelee rolled her eyes. Definite heaving potential, here.

Then-total shocker-Thomas the Tongue leaned down and gave Emma a dry little smack of a kiss on the cheek, and Emma smiled all nice and sweet, but nothing wet and sloppy happened at all between them-no fluid exchange whatsoever.

Emma hooked her arm in his and walked with him to the living room. "I've got some interesting news for you about Scott Slick-or should I say Simon Slickowski of Smyrna, Delaware, last year's World Canine Dance Association's Team Disco Champion?"

Leelee started giggling. Emma had said Thomas would be left speechless by what she'd found out that afternoon, and she'd been right. Thomas looked down at her and his jaw dropped open.

"What the hell-" he said, as they disappeared through the archway.

Hey, Bright Eyes.

Something brushed against Leelee's ankle and she squealed with excitement. The disco dog jumped into her arms, and he was even uglier in good light! Oooh-his skin felt totally creepy! Bare and silky where a normal dog was supposed to be fuzzy. She started laughing. She couldn't help it. He was so cool!

"I'll put your flowers in water for you," Beckett said, now standing behind her, staring at the little dog. "I think we've seen better-looking roadkill on Route 27, wouldn't you say, Lee?"

Hey, TV Man, at least I got all four legs and attempt to keep the offensive smells to a minimum-nothing personal, Ray.

Leelee handed over the flowers and gazed at the creature in her arms. "Oh, Beck. He is by far the best thing I've seen since I left L.A." She scratched behind the dog's fuzzy ears.

You're not so bad, yourself Bright Eyes. Oh… just a little to the left… that's it… you got it. Now harder. Oooh, yeah…

It felt like Thomas and Hairy had been around forever.

Hairy made himself at home in Leelee's lap, eyes closed inecstasy as she stroked his bony head. Leelee's daisies sat in a place of honor on the coffee table in front of her.

Thomas seemed to fit this old house. When he stood, he was in perfect scale with the ten-foot-high ceilings, his arms and shoulders just as strong and basic as the living room's thick crown molding and baseboards. When he sat, as he did now in the chair next to Beckett's, he seemed relaxed, comfortable with his right to be here.

Emma listened with contentment as the two men laughed and talked about everything from women's professional basketball to their favorite Monty Python dialogue. The last of the day's light was slipping through the front windows on a pleasant breeze. The white sheers rippled. The cozy group was bathed in a wash of pure gold.

Then Emma's breath hitched-somehow, the friendly scene before her had just become something more-one of those impossible moments, when time hovered, when the air stilled, when hidden love and magic were revealed.

Thomas chose that instant to turn toward her, laughing at something Beckett had just said, and his gray eyes locked on hers with a flash of awareness. Though his laugh fell away, a faint smile remained, and she could see that he felt it, too. And Emma's heart grew very quiet.

She'd know him in an instant…

He nodded at her almost imperceptibly, then turned back to her father, and she realized that not once in all the years she'd been with Aaron had he ever seemed to fit here. He was preoccupied. Antsy. Always checking his watch.

Beckett used to remark that Aaron would rather be anywhere else on the planet than out here at the farm, and Emma knew it was true.

So why did Thomas Tobin-a man she hardly knew-seem so at home in her house, in her life?

And what would she do about it?

Emma knew it all came down to whether she'd trust her instincts. Looking back on her life, she was aware that in every single instance, her gut-level response had been the right one. Whether she chose to pay attention to it was another matter. And the trouble always started when she let her thoughts override her instincts.

So which would she listen to tonight?

Her brain told her to watch for falling rocks and hairpin curves and to remember that bridges freeze before roads.

But in that golden moment-when Thomas looked at her, when he smiled at her, when she saw him sitting between her father and her daughter-her instinct was telling her that something wonderful was right around the next bend. That it was okay to go a little faster than usual. That she'd be safe.

Emma felt Leelee's eyes on her, and turned. She was grinning.

"Hey," Leelee said. "You said we were going to boogie-oogie-oogie till we just can't boogie no more."

Hairy raised his head and yawned.

"You're right." Emma hopped up from her chair and crossed to the armoire that housed the TV and stereo. She looked over her shoulder. "What'll we try first-the Bee Gees or Donna Summer?"

"Ooh, the Bee Gees!" Leelee squealed, jumping off the couch, Hairy tucked under her arm.

Within minutes, Thomas and Beckett had the furniture pushed to the edges of the room, Emma had the music queued up, and Leelee had positioned Hairy in the center of the rug. Then everyone stared down at him. He began to shake.

"Do you think he still remembers how to dance?" Leelee asked.

"Absolutely." Emma smiled at the expectant looks in everyone's faces. "If Hairy is who I think he is, he's a highly trained pro. I think we're in for a big treat."