"For what? She glanced toward the screen, now displaying an image of snow falling over the hotel. "You came here to give your daughter a nice evening, and I let my board business walk right through dinner."
Ethan folded the star carefully along its crease. "It's your gala," he said. "And it's your board's business." Evelyn shook her head. "It's your neighborhood, too." He held her gaze, recognizing the seriousness beneath her composed expression.
"That place next door to my shop," he said, "the Lantern House. My wife volunteered there. Hope still goes every Thursday. It's not just a building. Evelyn nodded.
"I know. Ethan's jaw tightened. "I hope you do. Because when people say they'll move a place like that somewhere cheaper, they usually don't talk about the bus route or whether a parent can get there between shifts. They don't talk about children who know which door to open when they're scared."
She heard his anger and did not ask him to soften it. "You have every right to be worried," she said. "I've been worried too." Ethan glanced toward Nolan, who was standing with three investors near the bar. "Then maybe the people who are worried should be the ones making the plan," he said. Evelyn stood quietly beside him while the music changed to a slower melody.
"You could come to the review meeting," she offered. Ethan frowned. "As what? The man who fixed your battery?
"As a business owner on Maple Street and a father whose daughter uses the Lantern House," Evelyn replied. "Those are more important qualifications for this conversation than most of the titles in this room. He looked at her for a long moment and then nodded once. "If you mean it, I'll come."
Hope returned before either could say more. "Daddy, it's starting," she announced. She pointed to the dance floor, where couples were gathering beneath the chandeliers. "Remember what you promised Nora? Ethan blinked.
"I don't remember promising Nora anything. Hope corrected him patiently. "She promised you could learn. That's the same thing."
Evelyn stepped aside, leaving them room. Ethan looked down at his daughter in the burgundy velvet dress and the Santa hat that threatened to slide over one eye. He had not danced since Mara's cousin got married years earlier, and even then he had mostly shifted his feet in a circle while Mara laughed and tried to teach him where to put his hands. Yet Hope stood before him with her arms raised and absolute confidence that he could figure it out.
"I may step on your shoes," he warned. "That's okay," she replied. "Nora said they're strong." She took his hand and led him toward the floor, where the musicians played a gentle waltz that moved slowly enough for people who needed time.
Ethan put one hand on Hope's shoulder and held her other hand as carefully as he held a delicate part in the shop. She placed her free hand against his jacket and followed when he took the first awkward step. The lights above them blurred slightly as they turned, and he heard her small shoes tapping against the polished floor. For a moment he could see Mara standing near the Christmas tree in their old house, holding a much smaller Hope against her chest and swaying to a song from the radio.