Valentine's with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 7)

by Whitley Cox

  Valentine’s with the Single Dad

  Single Dads of Seattle, Book 7

  Whitley Cox

  Copyright © 2019 by Whitley Cox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review

  ISBN: 978-1-989081-28-0

  Contents

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Neighbors with the Single Dad - Sneak Peek

  If You’ve Enjoyed This Book

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Whitley Cox

  About the Author

  You can also find me here

  Join My Street Team

  Don’t forget to Subscribe to my Newsletter

  For Ana Clemente

  An amazing new friend.

  About the Book

  When a business arrangement takes a personal turn ...

  Welcome to Seattle, the Emerald City and home to The Single Dads of Seattle. Ten sexy single fathers who play poker every Saturday night, have each other's backs, love their children without quarter, and hope to one day find love again.

  This is Mason's story ...

  Single Dad of Seattle Mason Whitfield made some big changes in his life five years ago, starting with quitting his Fortune 500 job and moving away. Now he’s back in Seattle, he bought a bar and is finally a father—life is good. But when a beautiful mystery woman keeps coming to his bar interviewing men night after night, Mason’s curiosity is piqued and he just has to know more.

  Five years ago, cancer nearly killed Lowenna Chambers. Then her husband left her—for her sister. Now in remission, she just opened up her own chocolate shop and is determined to live the best life possible. Until she’s asked to do the impossible: design an enormous chocolate center piece and give a speech for her sister and ex-husband’s wedding, on Valentine’s day of all days. A perfect opportunity to show them she’s moved on. But first, she needs a date. A drool-worthy hunk who will steal the show. Cue, Mason who is tall, dark, dangerous and with two sleeves of tattoos to boot.

  But as the wedding approaches it’s no longer a simple business arrangement between Mason and Lowenna. She likes him and he wants her, but love is never that simple and a future together begins to look unattainable.

  Can Lowenna get over her pain and heartache and spend Valentine’s with the single dad, or will she let yesterday haunt her today, ruining any chance of a beautiful tomorrow?

  1

  She was back.

  Same time.

  Same table.

  Same drink order.

  Same little pink notebook and pen.

  Only today, her hair was different. Normally, she kept her short, chin-length, dark brown bob straight with a soft swoosh over her forehead, but today she’d gone and let it get all wavy and had secured the swoosh with a little silver clip on the side of her head.

  It helped him see her eyes better.

  He really liked her eyes.

  Bright gray with soft flecks of white around the iris. He’d never seen anybody with eyes like that before. And the way the corners crinkled when she smiled or took a sip of her wine made the apples of her cheeks lift and go extra round.

  He had no idea what her name was because she kept to herself, but for the past three weeks, the woman had been coming into his bar every Tuesday and Thursday night. She would sit in the same spot every night. Order the same thing every night. And there she would stay from eight fifteen until ten fifteen. She would drink nothing but wine or water, and over the course of those two hours, she would entertain—though it looked more like interview—a different man every half hour or so. Some men made it to nearly the one-hour mark, while others were sent on their way before their drinks turned warm.

  They would chat. She would smile but ultimately let him do the majority of the talking. Then they would shake hands and the man would be on his way—never to return again, or so it seemed.

  Was she doing her own variation of speed dating?

  Was she interviewing them for jobs?

  Was she a pimp—or a madam—and vetting potential gigolos?

  All the guys who had sat down with her so far were not trolls. In fact, they were all pretty decent-looking, so maybe she was interviewing them for an all-male burlesque show.

  Either way, the woman who sat at the table by the window intrigued the crap out of Mason. He thought about her all the time. She was like a song or tune stuck in his head. He just couldn’t shake her—and he didn’t want to.

  He looked forward to Tuesday and Thursday nights. He’d actually switched his shifts around with the general manager so that he always worked Tuesday and Thursday nights. This mystery woman had put a spell on him, and he just needed to know more.

  What was her name?

  Where did she work?

  What was she doing every Tuesday and Thursday night, sitting in his bar with a different man every thirty minutes?

  Normally, he would have had no problem walking up to the woman, offering her his hand and asking what she was up to. He was, after all, the owner of Prime Sports Bar and Grill and a very friendly, outgoing person, but for some reason, he got the impression that she wanted to be left alone. She had a slight sense of almost embarrassment in her face as she met each man, shook his hand and sat down with him. As if she didn’t really want to be there but was doing so because she had to. It only made the mystery behind her all the more alluring, all the more exciting.

  She was also crazy-cute, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of approaching her for more than just her drink order.

  He glanced at his watch. It was closing in on ten o’clock. She would be leaving soon.

  Pulling the lever on the tap for the San Camanez Lager, he filled up a pint for an order that had just come in. He’d gotten so good at filling up a draft that he didn’t really have to pay attention or watch what he was doing. He simply counted in his head, tilted the glass just right, and ninety-nine percent of the time, he was dead on when he dropped his gaze again and pulled the pint glass free.

  Tonight was in that ninety-nine percent.

  He plopped the beer stein down onto the bar so the waitress could come and grab it along with the rest of the drinks ordered. His eyes remained glued to the back of the head of the man who was currently entertaining—or should he say failing to entertain—Mason’s mystery woman.

  Then the guy stood up.

  Mason glanced at his watch again. Oh, this dude was obviously a dud. He didn’t even make the full thirty minutes.

  The dud grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and slipped his arms into the sleeves before nodding at Mason’s mystery woman and then making haste to leave the bar, leaving her sitting there all alone, a bored, disappointed look on her face.

  Was she going
to get up and leave now?

  She never stayed past ten fifteen, and it was now ten o’clock. Surely, she didn’t have another “date” lined up.

  He hoped she didn’t.

  He checked in with his mother to see how his four-month-old daughter Willow was doing. She’d had a bit of a cold last week and was still a touch congested but seemed to be sleeping better and in brighter spirits. His mother claimed that all was well with Willow and that she’d fallen asleep on Mason’s father’s chest, and even though Willow could sleep in her bassinet, Mason’s dad hadn’t bothered to move her.

  “They’re only little for such a short time,” his mother had said. “Let us indulge in her babyness for as long as we can.”

  Mason simply rolled his eyes. Who was he to get upset when he did the same thing? Whenever Willow fell asleep on his chest, the world stopped and he simply took in the moment. His mother was right; they were only little for such a short time. Before he knew it, she would be crawling and then walking and then out with her friends, with no time for dear old dad.

  His heart ached at the thought of his little Willow old enough to go to parties and spend time with boys. Was it too late to have a tracking device implanted behind her ear?

  Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, the bar began to empty, but his mystery woman remained. All the servers left, and the kitchen closed in ten minutes. Lingering were just a couple of women in their mid-forties chatting away near the back of the pub and Mason’s mystery woman.

  She was staring at her notebook, but he could tell by the way she tapped her pen on the paper and chewed on her bottom lip that she wasn’t really paying attention to whatever she’d written. She was lost in thought.

  He needed to let her know it was last call. They closed at eleven on Tuesdays.

  He dried his hand on a towel and stepped out from behind the bar. Tossing his shoulders back and cracking his neck side to side, he approached her table. “Hey, there. It’s last call. Would you like another pinot?” He stopped directly in front of her and waited for her to lift her head. Her eyes slowly climbed his body. He resisted the urge to grin, even though he secretly got a big thrill when her gray eyes widened as they fell to the front of his pants.

  She swallowed hard when her gaze finally landed on his face. She blinked. “Yes, please,” she said softly, her eyes drifting back down to her notepad.

  “Are you meeting anybody else tonight?” He couldn’t stop himself. The curiosity was like an itch he just needed to scratch.

  Slowly, she shook her head but didn’t lift her eyes back up to him. “No, I’m not.”

  Swallowing, he shifted on his heels. “Can I ask what you’ve been up to all these weeks? You’re here twice a week for two hours meeting with several different men an evening.” He scratched the back of his neck. “The waitresses are starting to talk.”

  That wasn’t a lie. The servers were beginning to question what this woman’s angle was, but Mason doubted their curiosity was as strong as his. Otherwise, they could have asked her.

  Once again, her gaze climbed him. “I’m trying to hire a date,” she said, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink. “I’m hiring a date for a wedding.”

  His brows shot up his forehead and he took a small step back. That hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting at all. Why in the world did this gorgeous creature need to pay somebody to date her? He could only imagine that any red-blooded man in his right mind would jump at the chance to take her out her for free.

  He needed to know more. He needed to know the full story.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  She squinted at him but then nodded. He could just see the cogs spinning in her brain as she tried to figure out what he was up to.

  He wasn’t even sure what he was up to yet. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready to watch her walk out the door, and now that he’d started talking to her, he needed to continue. He needed to get to know her.

  “Gonna see if Barry in the back can make me a plate of nachos before the kitchen closes. Wanna share? On the house if you tell me the full story of why you feel the need to pay for a date.”

  She was very cautious. The way she stewed on his words and took a serious pause before replying had him wondering if he’d come on too strong and she was suddenly going to grab her purse and dash out, never to return.

  But that wasn’t the case.

  Thankfully.

  She gathered her coat and purse from the back of her chair and then finally that little pink notebook and pen. “I’ll join you at the bar,” she said, standing up to her full height, which was a hell of a lot shorter than him. He hadn’t realized just how short she was. He’d always approached her when she was sitting down.

  Nodding and resisting the urge to fist pump in the air, he grabbed her empty wineglass off the table, as well as the half-finished beer of her last potential date for hire, and headed back behind the bar.

  He quickly poured her a glass of the pinot she’d been drinking every night for the past few weeks, then slid the glass across the shiny wooden bar. “All right, Ms. … ”

  “Lowenna Chambers,” she said, accepting the glass and immediately taking a sip.

  Lowenna Chambers.

  He rolled her name around on his tongue for a moment. He liked it. It suited her. It held a sense of sophistication he’d picked up the first night she’d come in.

  “And your name?” she asked, her head tilted to the side, waiting.

  He paused what he was doing and thrust his hand forward. “Mason Whitfield. Pleased to meet you, Ms. Chambers.”

  Her smile warmed his chest from the center outward as she took his hand and shook it with a strength he felt all the way down to his balls. “Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Whitfield.”

  With a grin, he began to punch in their nacho order on the computer screen in front of him. “All right, Ms. Chambers, do you like jalapeños on your nachos?”

  Her smile was small and almost coy, but she nodded. “I do.”

  “What about olives?”

  She nodded again, her grin spreading across her face. “The more the better.”

  His smile also grew. “My kind of woman. Me too.” He hit the extra olives button a few times to emphasize their obsession. “And guac?”

  “Is it nachos without?”

  Oh, he liked her. She’d been a bit timid at first when he approached her, but now she seemed to be a bit more comfortable with him, more relaxed.

  “Absolutely not,” he agreed. “I’ll order us an extra-large guac.” He hit the button to send it off to the kitchen, then went to work putting the stack of dirty glasses through the cleaner. “Okay, nachos are on their way. Now let’s talk about this date-for-hire thing. Why in the world do you need to pay for a date?”

  She took another sip of her wine before answering. “The long and the short of it is, my sister is marrying my ex-husband, and I need a date to their wedding who will upstage them and their pompous, ostentatious, pretentious affair in every which way. I need a show-stopper. I need an underwear model with an Ivy League education, a six-figure salary, who dances like Fred Astaire.”

  Whoa!

  She lifted one shoulder. “You know … a unicorn.”

  Mason had two glasses in each hand, one of them slippery, and he nearly dropped it. “Um, can’t you just ask the guy to say he’s all those things?” Wouldn’t that be easier than hunting for the holy grail and paying the man to be her date? Surely there was a man out there who fit the bill for at least a few of those things, and they could fudge the rest.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to lie. Lies always have a way of coming back to bite us in the ass. And if for whatever reason he forgets who it is he’s supposed to be, that’ll ruin everything.”

  Fair enough.

  “So you’re vetting dates in my bar then?” He resumed putting the glasses on the rotating cleaner.

  “Seemed like a safe place to do it, out in public, and you seem like a man who woul
d jump to my defense if the guy I was interviewing got belligerent.”

  Oh, most definitely.

  “So you picked my bar because I’m a free bodyguard?” He cocked an eyebrow but couldn’t stop the smile that crooked his lips.

  “I’m spending an awful lot of money on wine each week. I wouldn’t call it free,” she countered.

  Fair enough.

  “So, I get that it’s a sore spot that your sister is marrying your ex-husband, but why not just boycott the wedding entirely? Why even put yourself through all of this and go in the first place?”

  She exhaled out a deep breath. “Five years ago, I was diagnosed with uterine cancer. I had to have almost a full hysterectomy, because once they got in there, they found out the cancer had spread to one of my ovaries. They removed my uterus, the bad ovary and my cervix. My husband, Brody, was a first-year law associate at the time. His benefits were good but not great. They covered a fair bit, but things still became tight, and we struggled financially. My treatments and surgery were not cheap, and the insurance company did everything they could do to deny us coverage.”

  Something began to tingle at the base of his neck, but he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet. “Motherfuckers,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

  “Agreed,” she said with near tangible venom in her tone. “Anyway, Brody and my sister, Doneen started sleeping together shortly after my surgery, once I started chemo. I was too sick to even think about being intimate and was also in recovery after major surgery.”