Time After Time, a bridget jones' diary fanfic

Time After Time

Words: 7,761

Rating: T / PG-13

Summary: When you see someone given a second chance, it's of paramount important to encourage them to grab onto it with both hands.

Disclaimer: You know the drill. Not my characters. Entirely my words.

Notes: A follow up, prompted by rubic cube, to "As Time Goes By". You should read that first if you haven't. As much as I am a fan of the Cyndi Lauper and R.E.M. songs, the title is referring to the old standard (lyrics to follow).

Also, I promise that the majority of this was written before ebonybeach (on LiveJournal) posted her fabulous "Healing". If you've read that, you'll know what I mean when you get to it.

It was the quiet click of the door that roused her from where she'd fallen asleep in the overstuffed chair in the sitting room. Darkness had more than settled in around her, and she blinked to allow her eyes to adjust, pushing her long hair from her eyes. She kicked off the blanket from her lap, got to her feet, and padded quietly to the doorway. She got there in time to see the dark outline of a man just beginning to ascend the stairs.

Unsurely she called out, "Dad?"

He froze in place, turned to face her, confusion evident on his face. "Darling. What are you doing up?"

She smiled shyly. "Was waiting up for you."

"It's a school night," he said darkly.

"And it's a work night for you," she retorted.

She was relieved to see him fighting a grin. "So. What does the Grand Inquisitor want to know?"

A full smile bloomed on her face as she ran up to him, the better to see every nuance of his expression. "Duh! How did it go?" she asked, reaching for his hand, clasping it tightly.

"She was kind enough to accept my apology."

She stared daggers at him. "And…?"

"And accepted an invitation to go to dinner with me tonight."

"And…?" she asked excitedly.

"I am not having a further conversation on this subject with you," he said, though the sparkle in his eyes said volumes.

Her smile did not wane. "She still likes you, doesn't she?"

He pursed his lips tightly.

She laughed, squeezing her father's hand. "Dad, it's three in the morning. I'm not an idiot."

He released her hand and put an arm around her shoulders, kissing her on the top of her head. "No. One thing you are not is an idiot."

She slipped an arm around her dad's waist, and they began to ascend the stairs together. "So…?" she asked.

"If you must hear me actually say the words: yes," he admitted at last, as they reached the landing. "She does still like me."

She remembered well the sense of loss and longing in her father's voice every time he conveyed the comical birthday dinner story to her, and she was beyond thrilled that it would finally have appropriate closure. "Will I get to see more of her?"

He chuckled. "I hope so. Now you, young lady… you need to go to bed," he said, finishing up in a stern tone.

"Yes, Dad," she said. "I'll sleep like a log knowing everything went so well."

She reached up and pecked his cheek, and went to pull away, but he took her in his arms to give her a hug.

"I'll sleep well," he said, "knowing you were pleased with the method and delivery of my apology. And when I tell Bridget, she'll be pleased, too."

It did not escape her notice that her father suddenly became conspicuously unavailable for lunch every day that week, looking particularly happy when he came home after work each evening, only to turn right back around again after feeding her to head out again. He would always ask her with great concern if she minded him going out, and she would always reply that of course she didn't, because, well, she didn't. She knew exactly where he was heading, and frankly would have made him go there if he'd demurred on going out.

Upon arriving home from school Friday afternoon, however, she was met by a very nervous-looking father.

She was appropriately concerned. "Dad? What is it?"

"I know it might seem a bit sudden," he said, meeting her eyes, "and I've wanted to ask you for a couple of days now, but I thought it might be nice if we all had dinner together tonight."

"Oh!" she said, relieved. "Is that all? That'd be awesome."

His uneasiness did not subside. "Bridget's insisting on cooking at her flat."

She had heard the story enough times to know why her father was so concerned, but she could not help but giggle. "Oh, Dad, does the food really matter?" she teased.

"I just want you to really like her," he said. "I know she wants terribly to win you over."

"You know I already like her," reminded his daughter. "I mean, if you like her… it's kind of a no-brainer."

She was happy to hear him chuckle. "You have no idea what a load off my mind that is. I would deny myself anything to make you happy, Ella, even this."

"Well, good thing you don't have to," she said with a smirk.

Ella was ready and waiting in the sitting room for forty-five minutes before her father came to collect her to leave, and he looked incredibly handsome; while he always took care of his appearance, she couldn't recall his ever fussing so quite much over the details. She thought it was sweet. He'd deny it, but he was already hopelessly lost to Bridget… and, she guessed, had been for some time.

In fact, Ella knew he was when he insisted on stopping by a florist for a dozen roses. He was waiting for them to bundle up the roses when Ella said, "And chocolate."

"What?"

"Chocolate, Dad."

He smirked, and ever so slightly nodded.

With roses and chocolate in hand, they arrived to her building in very little time—she was surprised how close it was to their own home—and before he rang the bell he took a moment to reexamine his suit jacket, his tie, his shirt buttons all over again. She rolled her eyes, reached forward and pushed the button, murmuring, "Honestly, you look fine."

"Some day," he said, "you'll understand."

She pursed her lips; she realised it was in a manner very like her father.

A fuzzy, tinny voice sounded out into the night: "Who is it?"

"It's Mark. And Ella."

"Oh, just a moment…." There was a sound, a clatter, then the buzz of the lock being released. "Come on up."

Uncertain that her father was aware of his surroundings any longer, she took the lead and opened the door for them. Almost bashfully, he looked down, muttering a "Thank you, dear."

She headed up the stairs, heard him direct her to the top flat. She climbed faster than he did, reached the door first and knocked. As if Bridget were standing there waiting, it swung open and she was met by—

Well, it was Bridget, that much Ella knew based on their meeting at the corner store, and while she'd been pretty then, she looked very different now: radiant, natural… stunning.

"Hi, Ella," said Bridget, smiling.

Bridget was wearing a simple dress of the deepest blue, with a low vee neck that put her lovely heart pendant on display. Her hair was shining like gold as it hung loose around her face, brushing against her shoulders; her blue eyes twinkled in the meager light of the entryway. Ella knew the moment her father came into view by the way Bridget's features softened, and Ella spun around in time to catch the look of appreciation on his face, the look of (yes!) love in his eyes as he blinked, taking her in.

"Hello, Bridget," he said quietly.

"Hello, Mark," she replied.

There were several moments of silence—neither seemed able to blink, lost in each other's eyes—before Ella thought it polite to clear her throat gently.

"Um. These are for you." Mark stepped forward, handing her the flowers.

Her eyes lit with the sight of them, taking them in her arms. "Oh, my. Thank you. They're absolutely… wow…. You shouldn't have."

"It was nothing."

Ella managed to slip past Bridget, still holding on to the box of chocolate. She'd give the box to Bridget in a bit; she didn't want to spoil the lovely moment between them. Ella realised her father was watching her to see where her gaze was directed, so Ella pointedly looked away. After a moment she looked back to catch the tail end of a chaste kiss and a pair of smiles.

Ella could not contain the huge smile that spread over her own face.

"This is for you, too," she said at last.

Bridget turned to accept the chocolate, and when she saw the box, she laughed. "Thank you, Ella."

"It smells very good, dinner," said Ella. She wasn't sure precisely what it was, but it did smell tantalising.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. As if remembering her manners, she added suddenly, "Please, come in."

As Bridget headed towards the kitchen, Ella reached forward and tugged on her father's hand, prompting him to come further into the flat. He smiled somewhat gratefully to her.

"Dad, why don't you go help Bridget with the flowers?" Ella suggested.

"Good idea."

He followed her into the kitchen. Ella made a point to take a turn around the flat, glancing into the kitchen to see he had slipped his arm around Bridget's waist, far too close to her to be doing anything but pressing a kiss into her hair. Ella grinned, looking away. It was going to be a very pleasant evening, but she had a sneaking suspicion she was going to spend her night averting her eyes and smirking.

Ella didn't mind. Her father had spent so many years guarding his heart after two failed marriages, devoted to his daughter but lonely for companionship, it was really the least she could do.

Ella drifted over to the bookcase, smiled at title after title revealed a love of chick lit, mysteries, self-help books, and the classics—Austen, Wodehouse, Lawrence. She remembered her father's mention of Bridget having worked in publishing, and that showed in the number and variety of tomes around her flat. She also skimmed her eyes over the collection of DVDs and smirked to see many movies she thought of as romantic comedy classics. On the top of that pile rested the definitive production of one of the greatest romantic stories of all time: Pride & Prejudice.

She chuckled.

A voice from the kitchen interrupted her investigation. "Would you like something to drink, Ella?"

"Yes, Bridget, thanks," she said as she turned to face the woman. Somehow she looked even more radiant, her cheeks flush with what Ella could only imagine was happiness. She was feeling bold and decided to ask for a forbidden beverage: "Do you have cola?"

"Yes, of course." She disappeared into the kitchen again.

Not a peep from her father. She liked this distraction.

When Bridget returned with the soda, Ella commented, "I was just admiring your movie collection."

Her father appeared just behind Bridget's shoulder, absently straightening his tie.

"Oh?" asked Bridget.

"Yes," she said. As she picked up the Pride & Prejudice set, she said, "I've wanted to see this for some time but haven't been able to find a copy of this anywhere."

Bridget's face lit with a smile, and Ella knew she'd struck gold. "Oh! Well, you are more than welcome to borrow that! Anything else you see that you like?" Bridget came closer to hand her the glass of cola. "I've got more movies over there too. Come here, I'll show you."

They began to discuss the recent blockbusters they'd both wanted to see, discussed the stacks of DVDs Bridget owned, and before too long Ella realised her father had been reduced to observer, taking a seat on a living room chair. He didn't seem to mind too much, though she couldn't decide if he looked pleased or a little scared. They crouched down on the floor and took inventory of films. Bridget spoke to her like an equal, not like how adults usually talk down to young people, and Ella's fondness for the woman grew exponentially. Ella couldn't begin to imagine there was a woman on this earth more different than her mother, and understood, really understood, why her parents did not stay together.

"I'm beginning to feel as if I'm interrupting a girls' night out," he said after some moments, a smile playing on his lips.

Ella watched as Bridget turned her head to smile at Mark, and very much liked the looks they exchanged with one another.

Suddenly, concern washed over his face. "Um. Bridget. How much longer until dinner?"

At that moment Ella caught a whiff of what her father must have smelled: the distinct scent of something burning.

"Oh… bugger!" She hastily got to her feet and dashed to the kitchen. He quickly rose to follow her. Ella felt slightly guilty for having distracted her from the dinner that was baking in her oven.

"It's all right," she heard her father's voice say soothingly. "It's only a little burned."

"But I wanted to impress you," Bridget replied sorrowfully. "And your daughter."

Whatever her father said in reply was said too softly to hear, but she heard Bridget sniff, then laugh lightly. Ella was sure he was reminding her that the fateful birthday dinner was a better example of a dinner gone horribly wrong.

Ella rose from her place on the floor in time to see her father cradling Bridget's face in his hand and giving her a very sweet, loving kiss. Even after he pulled away, his hand remained, his thumb stroking her cheek tenderly. "Let's eat," she heard him say. "You pour our wine; I'll get the food."

Bridget nodded, smiling up at him.

Ella quickly turned, smirking as she pretended she hadn't seen.

"I'm famished," Ella said overly loudly, walking over to the dining room table. She noticed her father had distanced himself from Bridget. Silly man. She'd have to have a talk with him about that.

Dinner turned out to be baked chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes. It was honestly not the best meal she'd ever eaten—the chicken was a little dry and overly sprinkled with basil and rosemary, the beans were a bit on the shriveled side, and the potatoes were closer to wall paste than their source—but it had been prepared with such care for them that they both ate every bite and Ella even requested seconds. Bridget looked very pleased and proud, and reached over next to her to take Mark's hand.

Her father shot Ella a look conveying his appreciation as he turned his hand over to entwine his fingers with Bridget's.

"So I hear you've heard all about the disastrous birthday dinner," said Bridget, almost ruefully.

"Oh, yes," she said with a grin. "I begged my father to make me blue soup for my birthday every year until I was eleven."

Ella watched as Bridget flushed clear down to her neckline.

"The blue made it taste better," Ella added earnestly, "but he never believed me."

"Oh, I believe you." Bridget turned to look at Mark. "You really made her blue soup?" she asked tenderly.

Mark smiled and nodded slightly, then shrugged nonchalantly as he winked slyly to his daughter. "Well. She is a bit on the spoiled side."

She made a point to pout in an exaggerated fashion, then she and her father alike began to chuckle. Bridget did not hold back her own giggles; in an instant Ella realised the characteristics her father had always most generously encouraged in her—openness, frankness, honesty, and an eagerness to laugh (including the ability to laugh at oneself) all high on the list—were characteristics this woman obviously possessed in excess. She was sure it was no accident.

Yes, thought Ella, her smirk hidden in her laughter, we shall get along just fine when he marries you.

"You know," said her father confidentially, "this is the very kitchen, the very flat that the momentous catastrophe happened in."

"Really? Wow. It's a pretty cool place." She looked around herself to the pale blue wallpaper, the framed photos, even the Christmas lights strung up over the threshold to the entryway. And, of course, the ever-present books.

"It's a bit small," said Bridget, "but thank you."

"It's not small, it's cosy," Mark corrected, turning to face Bridget again. "I always thought that about your flat—about how much I liked it." They held each others' gaze and though they looked somewhat melancholy, they smiled; Ella guessed that it was thanks to the possibility of the years ahead of them now.

"How much I liked being here," he concluded softly.

Bridget smiled, breaking the gaze to look down then back up at Mark again.

Though her dad didn't look much different at present than he did in photos from around the time he'd married her mom, Ella suddenly got a very vivid mental picture of fifteen-years-younger Mark and Bridget rushing to put the ostensible feast together, all the while exchanging fleeting looks and shy smiles. It was not difficult to conjure such an image. While Ella had never actually met Daniel, she could not help but feel both hatred for and gratitude to the man—while her father might have been happier with Bridget for all of these years but for that man, Mark also might not have been her own father (or a father) at all.

The two adults at the table seemed to return to the present simultaneously, and Bridget looked to Ella as she collected herself, while Mark seemed content to keep his eyes on his date. "So, Ella, I've made dessert if you have room," said Bridget. "I think you'll enjoy it."

Ella raised a singular brow. "Oh?" she asked, purposefully trying not to sound too overly-interested.

"I mean, what woman wouldn't?" Bridget continued.

Woman! Her curiosity was definitely piqued, and her adoration of Bridget was cemented. "What did you make?"

"Chocolate mousse."

"Ah!" Ella said. "Yes, please, then."

Bridget beamed again and turned to Mark. "How about you? Up for chocolate mousse?"

She saw him squeeze Bridget's hand then release it. "Absolutely. Why don't I come help?"

"That'd be great."

Ella was, indeed, not an idiot. It didn't take two people to serve up chocolate mousse, that much she knew, but she stifled the grin threatening to overtake her features and instead asked, "How about I pick out a movie? Tomorrow's Saturday, after all."

She watched her father and Bridget exchange a quick glance; Bridget shrugged, without words conveying she didn't mind if he approved, then at Mark's subtle nod, she smiled and said, "Yes, that'd be lovely. We can even start to watch the mini if you'd like."

Ella was sure her face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "Really?"

"Really," replied her father.

They each departed the dining room table; her father and Bridget for the kitchen, Ella for the living room.

"Can I get you another drink while I'm in here?" Bridget called.

"Another glass of cola, please."

Still no protest. If she'd known the effect being in love would have on her father, she'd have insisted on it years ago.

Ella retrieved the DVD set from where it had been forgotten on the pile of movies earlier, fired up the telly and the disc player, and popped disc one in. As the intro music filled the air, Ella also pulled an easy chair up in front of the telly, just forward of, but not in front of, the sofa. No, the sofa had to be left open for the two of them, and the chair had to be just forward enough so that her dad wouldn't freak out about sitting on a sofa with his arm around Bridget in a place where his daughter might see. With any luck he could get a good kiss or two in… maybe Ella would even doze off…

She grinned slightly evilly.

"Here you are," said Bridget. One hand bore a glass topped off with soda; the other, a small bowl filled with rich chocolate mousse so thick that the spoon stood up in it.

She sat up straight to accept them as Bridget moved back to the kitchen. Her father came in just then, pulling a small table up close to the left arm of the chair. "You're lucky I'm feeling generous tonight," he said with a grin in a low tone, relieving her of her drink and setting on that table. She returned the grin in full.

Ella turned to see that Bridget had returned, bringing with her a tray. The two of them had similar bowls of dessert as well as cups of coffee. She recognized the scent of Irish cream whiskey as it wafted over, and smiled yet again. Her father would not have agreed to doctored coffee if he planned on leaving soon. Heh.

"Well," said Bridget. "I think we can begin."

Mark reached up to switch off the lamp, as if in agreement.

As Bridget pressed play on the DVD remote, Ella pulled the spoon up out of the mound of chocolate, feeling rather like she were drawing Excalibur from the stone, and plunged it into her mouth. What Bridget might have lacked in culinary talent for dinner, she more than made up for with dessert. Luxuriously heavy and dark without being overly sweet, Ella found herself at the bottom of the cup far too quickly and even then was tempted to stick her finger in to wipe up the last remnants.

As conversation in the movie subsided, Ella said, looking back over her shoulder, "That was so fantastic, Bridget. Thanks."

She managed to catch Bridget with her own spoon in her mouth, and she laughed at being caught. Swallowing quickly, she said, "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Her father had taken a moment to have another sip of coffee, but moved back to another spoonful of mousse. "Yes. Excellent dessert, darling."

If Ella hadn't already been turned around to speak to Bridget, she would have had to have spun around to see Bridget's reaction that little term of endearment. As expected, as any girl would react to being referred to so affectionately, she smiled, probably even blushed (it was too dark to tell for sure) and reached to grasp his hand and squeeze it.

"Better than marmalade?" Bridget teased.

"Much."

Ella directed her attention back to the screen just as Bridget settled into the crook of his arm. She promised herself she'd be good and not look, but could only last a few minutes before sneaking a peek over the side of the chair. She needn't have bothered with stealth. Ella could have stood up and stared outright and they wouldn't have noticed; they were far too busy cuddling into one another, he too busy combing her hair back with his fingers as she rested there with his arm around her shoulder. She had closed her eyes, leaned back against his chest, like she hadn't quite been so content in years. Perhaps she hadn't. He too had his eyes closed, as if the scent of her hair so close to his face was something he was memorising for all time. When she saw him place a little kiss on Bridget's hairline at the temple, Ella turned back to the movie, feeling beyond smug, beyond happy, and being full on rich dessert to boot… well, as much as she wanted to watch the movie, she felt herself slipping into sleep.

When next Ella opened her eyes, it was very dark and quiet around her save for the telly, where the DVD had reverted back to the main menu with its endlessly looping pianoforte music. Blinking against the stark light of the CRT, she pushed herself up; she turned and opened her mouth to speak to ask her father about going home, but stopped herself when she took in the scene there:

There he was, reclined along the arm and the back of the settee, his tie missing and the top two buttons of his shirt undone; Bridget (in her now-wrinkled dress) had turned over to face him, to half lie upon him with her cheek resting on his shoulder. Even in sleep they were loosely embracing, his arm protectively around her, her arm around his waist. They both looked so peaceful, so content, that Ella could not help but tiptoe over to a nearby chair that held some folded blankets in order to cover them with one. There was a second blanket that she took for herself. After grabbing the remote control from the coffee table, she curled up in the chair, switched the telly off, and returned rapidly to Bedfordshire.

Ella became cognisant of golden sunlight shining into the room, but became extremely confused upon opening her eyes. She was in a bed in a strange bedroom, one that was in slight disarray around her. She blinked, wondering if she was still dreaming, and kicked the sheets back, getting unsteadily to her feet. When she got to the door and peered down the hallway, she realised exactly where she was—Bridget's flat—but was perplexed about how she had come to be in a bedroom.

She did not see Bridget or her father.

"Hello?" she called out.

Bridget's head popped out around from entryway into the kitchen. "Oh good. You're awake." Ella was immediately alarmed by her serious tone.

"Where's my dad?" Ella asked as Bridget disappeared back into the kitchen.

Bridget still had not answered as Ella padded forward. Ella was about to ask again when Bridget replied, "Your father got a call very late last night. He had to leave but asked if I would keep you here until morning. He didn't want to wake you."

"A call?" she asked, her heart racing. "Who called?"

Bridget met her gaze at last; Ella saw at once that the older woman looked deeply troubled. "Your grandmother. About your grandfather."

"Is he—?" she began, afraid to say the words out loud. After years of greeting cards, letters, and occasional visits, Ella had only recently gotten to know her grandparents better, and felt her eyes well up at the thought of losing one of them already.

"No," said Bridget emphatically, anticipating the question Ella was poised to ask, then took her hands gently, reassuringly. "He had to be taken to hospital by ambulance last night, was having trouble breathing. When your grandmother called she was pretty shaken up. The doctors weren't giving her any information about his condition, so he decided to head up there to bully it out of them."

Relieved, Ella couldn't stifle a chuckle even as wetness spilled onto her cheeks; she could well imagine her father striding around firing off questions and demanding answers from cowering, terrified doctors while her grandmother, her namesake, watched proudly. Bridget pulled her close and gave her a tight hug. "It'll be all right. He called a little while ago. Your grandfather will be okay."

Ella found herself returning the hug more tightly, found the softness of the embrace more comforting than she expected.

"We can go up there if you like," offered Bridget softly.

She appreciated the sentiment, but didn't want to have her make the two and a half hour drive if she didn't need to. "Let me call him."

"Of course."

She broke away to find her little handbag, to get her mobile. She punched in her father's speed dial number, waited with a nervous stomach for him to pick up.

"El. How are you?" he answered. "Sleep well?"

"I'm good, Dad. Slept fine. How are you? How's Granddad?"

"I'm fine. Tired, but fine. Granddad is doing well. When I left the hospital he was awake and alert. They're keeping him until tomorrow for observation but he'll be all right."

"Bridget was telling me he would be okay. She offered to bring me up there to you."

"No need. I'm on my way back. I'm about an hour out of town. Just… wait there for me."

"Oh. Okay. See you soon."

She disconnected the phone, turning back to Bridget.

"Whenever you want, we can go," said Bridget.

"Actually, he's on his way here."

"Oh." It was a simple syllable but the way she said it conveyed so much, underscored by her smile. "Wait. Now?"

"Well, an hour from how."

"Ah." Bridget leaned up against the counter, then asked, "Well, would you like some breakfast then?"

The clock indicated it was a bit on the late side of breakfast. but she was feeling rather hungry. "What do you have?"

Bridget opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, furrowing her brows together. "Hm, I have some frozen waffles, I think… maybe some eggs…." She looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry I'm not better prepared. I wasn't expecting company for breakfast." Somehow she managed to look more embarrassed at this admission. "Oh! There's a café around the corner and down the street. They have pastries. And coffee."

"I love cappuccino," she admitted conspiratorially.

Bridget grinned. "Well. Let's go get ourselves chocolate croissants and cappuccinos."

"So, aside from our superior Cadbury," began Bridget shortly after they took their seat by the window, "how are you liking England?"

Sipping her cappuccino, Ella smiled. "I like it a lot. Still getting adjusted to school, and still being teased for my weird accent."

Bridget chuckled. "How long have you actually been here?"

"Oh," she said, mentally calculating the time that had passed, "we got here in July to give me time to settle in, to get to know Granny and Granddad, before school. So… three months."

"You must miss your mum," Bridget said tentatively, even a little wistfully.

"Yeah, I guess," Ella said distractedly. "She wasn't around much when I was growing up. We aren't really that close, never have been."

"Ah." Bridget paused to sip her drink, looking very thoughtful. "You know, I don't think your mum ever liked me much."

Ella snorted a laugh before she could stop herself, shocking Bridget visibly. "Oh, God, I bet she didn't!" she said. "I didn't know she knew you."

"We only met… three times, really." Almost guiltily, she added, "Each time she acted more and more like I was getting a little too near her prey."

"I can picture it." Ella giggled. "I love my mum, but I'm not totally blind to how she is. She and Dad were just not, well, right for each other. And honestly, I think I like your company way more than hers."

Bridget blinked in surprise.

"Well, you're nice, you're funny, you don't talk to me like I'm a little kid or an idiot, and you make my dad really happy," Ella continued.

"Oh, Ella," she said, flushing an impressive crimson. "We were barely friends then, and we've only just become reacquainted after a very long time apart."

Ella said with a wry grin, "More than fifteen years. Yeah. I know. I've heard all about it, lots of times."

"And God knows I am far from perfect," Bridget said.

"But you're perfect for him."

Bridget's wide blue eyes met with Ella's hazel ones, and Ella could not help but grin. Bridget probably thought the statement little more than the romantic daydreams of a teenaged girl, but Ella knew better. Even more importantly, she knew her father.

Bridget smiled, then looked down modestly, as if to count the peaks of foam on her coffee drink. "I'm glad you think so."

"I think he thinks so too," said Ella.

She noticed that Bridget made no sounds of protestation. There were shared smiles and comfortable silence for a few moments until Ella picked up her breakfast with her right hand.

"I don't know how I ever lived without chocolate croissant," said Ella, sinking her teeth into the delicious pastry.

"Surely your father doesn't."

As they walked home from the café, Ella looked over to Bridget and asked, "What?"

"Talk to you like you're a child or an idiot."

Ella chuckled, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Nah. He's pretty good about that. But most other adults do."

"Yeah. I remember what it's like to be fifteen," said Bridget. "Sometimes I don't feel like a grownup at all. I look in the mirror and am surprised by the old lady I've become."

"Oh, please. You're not old," said Ella.

"Fifty's just 'round the corner," she said in a tone bordering on lamentation.

"You don't look old, and you sure don't act old," Ella said. 'Specially 'round Dad, she added mentally.

Bridget laughed as they scaled the stoop before the main door of the building. "I'm going to have to keep you around, Ella. You're good for my ego."

At that moment, just out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her father's car coming down the street. She beamed a smile and started waving as she ran back down to the kerb to meet him. The car slid into an empty space a few car lengths away, and within a moment she saw the tall figure of her father rise from the driver's side. He looked really drawn and pale, with dark smudges beneath his eyes as testament to the night he'd had.

"Hi, Dad," she said with enthusiasm, embracing him, happier than she'd ever been to see him, even after her often-dreadful weekend visitations with Mum. She felt his strong arms encircle her, hold her close, kiss into her hair.

"Hello, El." He pulled back to look at her, then his eyes rose to connect with Bridget, who had hung back at the stoop and looked somewhat apprehensive. "Were you two going somewhere?"

"Just returning from the café. Breakfast."

"Ah." He slipped his arm around her shoulders and walked back with her to where Bridget stood. Ella looked up to see her father's expression slide from happy to something unreadable, and wondered what was going through his mind. Did he think they hadn't gotten along?

Addressing Bridget, he began unsurely, "Thanks for…" He then chuckled. "Well. Can't say 'babysitting her'. She's a bit old for that."

Bridget smiled, and it was heartfelt. "It was a pleasure. Your daughter is a lovely young lady."

"We had a nice time, just us girls," Ella added, grinning.

He looked very thoughtful as he said, "I'm very glad to hear. Well." Mark cleared his throat. "I suppose we ought to head home. Do you have all of your things, El?" Ella nodded.

Bridget looked somewhat somber. "You're probably very tired. That was a pretty early phone call."

Mark nodded. The smile on his face was, Ella thought, perhaps only visible under a microscope. "And a lot of driving. I think a nap's in order."

They stood there, about an arm's length apart, not saying a word.

"If you want, call me when you wake up," Bridget offered in a quiet voice after a few minutes.

Mark nodded again, smiling a little more. "I will."

More silence until Ella said, "Oh, honestly." She slipped from her father's arm and pushed him closer towards Bridget. "Kiss her goodbye, already. You're not going to warp my brain or something if you kiss her in front of me."

Bridget laughed; Mark smiled fully. Then they kissed.

It was no peck on the lips by a long shot, but neither was it an embarrassing display; it was the kind of kiss only really shared by two people in love. Ella grinned, feeling satisfied. Yup, she thought. The Blue Soup Chef is going to become a permanent fixture.

On the short drive home, Mark was very pensive, not saying more than a couple of words. He pulled the car into its spot, put it into park, switched off the ignition, and, leaning on the steering wheel, he turned to his daughter to finally speak. "I want you to be honest, Ella. What do you really think of Bridget?"

"What? I thought that was kind of obvious."

"I want to know if you were just being nice or polite because she's a… friend—"

"Dad."

"—or if you truly like her."

"Dad."

He continued: "I know you probably had some preconceived idea of who she is; maybe she didn't live up to those ideas, or maybe you're afraid of hurting my feelings, but I'd rather know now—"

"Dad! I like her, all right? She's awesome."

He sat in silent surprise for a few moments before asking, "You really do?"

"It's kind of hard not to," Ella said with a grin.

He smiled at last, his burden apparently relieved. "I'm glad."

They emerged from the car, entering the house together.

"Dad?" she asked as they slipped out of their jackets.

"Yes, El?" he said, hanging his jacket on the coat rack.

"Do you love her?"

He stopped, turned to her, looking slightly stunned.

"It's pretty okay with me if you do."

He blinked, as if still processing the notion that he might actually be in love with Bridget, that his daughter fully supported this notion. "I'm glad of that, as well."

She grinned. She was tempted to press for an answer, but she thought the expression on his face, the bewilderment in his eyes at being confronted with the very idea, spoke a more eloquent truth than words.

"I'm gonna go check my email, see if Betsy's back from Liverpool. Go take your nap."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He took three steps, then stopped and turned to add, "By the way, if you thought moving the chair where you did was an exercise in subtlety, you have a lot to learn about subtlety." He was smirking again though as he turned to head upstairs.

"Ella?"

She hadn't realised four hours had passed until she glanced up to the clock in the corner of the screen. She turned around to face him, saw he looked rather freshly wakened and much refreshed, though stubbly and unshaven. "Yeah, Dad?"

"So did you hear from Betsy?"

If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought he sounded anxious to get her out of the house. "Yep. Betsy's back and wants to know if I can stay over."

She watched him closely, and yes, there was that smile before he tried to hide it with a serious look. "Certainly. Do you need me to drop you there?"

She smirked. "If it won't interfere with your getting ready for your night out."

He tilted his head, furrowed his brows, then blinked rapidly three or four times. "Did I tell you I was going out?"

"No."

Now he was merely staring. "You scare me a little, sometimes."

"Dad, why else would you agree to a sleepover without any sort of lecture whatsoever?"

"I met Betsy already. She's a nice girl. No discussion needed," he said defensively, raising his chin haughtily before sweeping his hand over the bristle there. "Well. I'm going to go shower and shave; do you think you'll be ready to go by the time I'm done?"

Ella's eyebrows lifted. "Before supper?"

"I'll give you some money for a pizza. You girls can have a really good long night together."

After her father left, she burst into a giggle, pulled out her mobile, and called Betsy to advise of her impending arrival.

Ella's distraction, thinking about her father and his evening with Bridget, must have been really obvious to Betsy. Her friend looked at her with drawn brows as she chewed an overly large mouthful of pizza, then took a long draw of Coke. "Earth to Ella, come in, Ella."

Ella laughed, blushing lightly. "Oh, sorry, it's just… I'm thinking about my dad. He's got a date tonight. I just hope it's going well."

"Your dad is kind of cute," admitted Betsy. "First date?"

"No, he's taken her out before." Ella suddenly remembered that Betsy had been there the other day when they'd met Bridget in the corner store. "It's the lady you thought was my mum."

"Oh, yeah," Betsy said, then took another bite. After chewing and swallowing, she added, "They looked really cute together."

Ella grinned. "Yeah. They do."

Ella declined to attend Sunday services with her friend, which meant arriving back at home fairly early the next morning (early for a Sunday, anyway). She went up to her room to deposit her bag lest she face the Wrath of Dad, then decided to go down to the kitchen for a glass of orange juice, tea, or whatever struck her fancy when she got down there.

She froze midway down the stairs when she heard her father's voice in a low, serious tone.

"…this is all very sudden, I realise, but after the time that's passed, what happened with my father…"

There was a pause; Ella's heart leapt into her throat. Was he trying to let Bridget down easy by phone? She inched forward to try to see what was going on.

To her surprise, she saw not just her father but Bridget as well, standing face to face; she was wearing what was obviously the top to the pyjama bottoms he was wearing along with his white sleeveless undershirt. Bridget faced away from the staircase Ella currently was perched on, and beside them, on the breakfast nook, sat two cups of steaming coffee, one dark, one light. She could see that her father had Bridget's hand in both of his. Ella bit her bottom lip with the suspense.

"What are you saying, Mark?" Bridget asked, her voice tremulous.

She saw her father close his eyes and exhale loudly. "There's a lot of time to make up for, and I've had a very blunt reminder this week that life is all too fragile, so I want to start as soon as possible." He opened his eyes, securing her gaze once again before continuing. "Will you marry me?"

Ella clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp, which she needn't have done for Bridget's own gasp. Quite the opposite of being let down easy! She dared not blink.

"You're right," Bridget said at last, still looking bowled over. "This is sudden." She saw Bridget's free hand raise to steady herself on the breakfast nook. "I don't know what to say."

Say yes! thought Ella, clasping her own hands together excitedly, drawing them to her chin.

Bridget continued, "What about… living together… being around each other all the time? Won't I drive you crazy?"

He grinned, though still looked really afraid she might say no. "I'm hoping you will."

Bridget looked to the side, as if her coffee cup might offer advice.

Mark was quick to add at her hesitation, "If you're daunted by the responsibility of living with a headstrong fifteen-year-old girl—"

"Oh, no," Bridget interrupted, turning back to look at Mark. "I adore Ella, but I'm not sure she'd like me as a stepmum. What would she say?"

"To say 'yes'!" Ella blurted. She couldn't help it, listening to Bridget sound like she was trying to talk herself out of something she wanted.

Mark's head whipped up at the sound of his daughter's voice; Bridget practically jumped in fright as she spun around, tugging down at the plenty-long pyjama top as she flushed crimson.

"Ella! It's not polite to eavesdrop!" her father said, looking genuinely cross.

"Dad…" she began, then didn't know what else to say; her gaze dropped to the floor. She should have controlled her outburst. For all she knew, she'd ruined the moment and it was now lost. She felt two inches high.

"Mark," Bridget said quietly, turning her head to the side. "Don't scold her when she's helped me to make up my mind."

It was when Bridget smiled just then that Mark had his answer; he looked stunned, as if he had truly expected a refusal. "Really," he said softly, more of a statement than a question.

Bridget's grin widened. "Really. Yes."

She turned to him fully again and Ella watched as Bridget got up on high tiptoes, as his arms took her about her waist, and they kissed. Ella began to hop up and down, squealing in delight, which caused both of the adults to start laughing, breaking the kiss. Ella couldn't help herself, though. After all, she'd been right! They were going to marry!

"I'm sure there'll have to be some adjustments…" Mark said, ever practical. "She's never had to live with a mother-figure before; she can be a little stubborn; I'm after her constantly to clean up after herself…"

"Those latter two sound terribly familiar," Bridget teased.

She watched Mark's arms tighten around his new fiancée to draw her close in an embrace.

Ella smiled smugly. "Well, you know what they say. Third time's the charm, right?"

Mark chuckled, then held one of his arms out to beckon his daughter closer, and with that arm he pulled her to him, planting a kiss on her forehead then on Bridget's. As Ella put her left arm across Bridget's back to hug her too, she felt good; really, really good.

Except…

"You know," Ella said hesitantly, remembering the way the two of them were dressed, "if you want, I can make myself kinda scarce…"

She felt both of them start to rock with silent laughter, heard Bridget whisper (obviously meant for Mark), "I'm so embarrassed…."

He kissed her temple again as if to say not to be, then spoke again, pulling back to look at the ladies in his life. "Actually, I'd rather fancy a little… shopping."

"Shopping?" they both asked in unison.

"If you'd rather not…" Mark said.

"No, no, we can go shopping, right, Ella?" Bridget said quickly, the corner of her mouth curling up.

"Right."

Ella sprinted for her room to brush her hair and powder her nose, eagerly waiting in the sitting room to leave, but it was some time before her father and her soon-to-be-stepmum came downstairs. Bridget's locks were towel-dried but damp; she said sheepishly, "I didn't know your father didn't have a hairdryer."

"You look fine," said Mark. It didn't escape Ella's notice that his locks were damp too. It was, she thought, adorable.

"Even without a lick of makeup?" she said insecurely.

"You're beautiful just as you are," said Mark with a soft smile.

Bridget flushed. "Still… what if I see someone…?"

"Wait." Ella turned to dig into her handbag for the compact powder she carried, then handed it to Bridget proudly. She accepted it, looking quite touched.

"I always did want a daughter… and I won't even have to worry about the fuss and bother of nappies."

They all laughed as they left for the car.

The destination was a surprise even to Ella, and in the end, only two purchases were made:

For Ella, a lovely necklace, its open-heart pendant a twin to Bridget's.

For Bridget, a gleaming, shining star of a ring, carefully placed amidst tears of joy on the third finger of her left hand.

The end.

Time After Time (J. Styne / S. Cahn)

Time after time
I tell myself I'm so lucky
To be loving you
I'm so lucky to be
The one you run to see
In the evening
When the day is through

I only know what I know
The passing years will show
You kept my love so young
So new
And time after time
You'll hear me say that I'm
So lucky to be loving you