Ignite: A Grumpy Single Dad Romance

by Melanie Harlow

  Mariah laughed. “That will not be me. I don’t have the whole thing visualized in my mind or anything—and it doesn’t have to be huge. I’d like something intimate, just family and close friends. We’re sort of limited by the baseball calendar as to when we can do it, so we’re thinking maybe February.”

  “This February?” I asked in surprise.

  She nodded. “I know it’s only six months away, and most brides plan ahead at least a year, but I’m hoping we can pull something off.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Ellie said confidently. “And I bet you’ll have an easier time finding a venue in the winter.”

  “April said I should talk to Millie about Cloverleigh Farms.” Mariah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “You should,” I agreed. “I saw her car on the street, so she’s here somewhere. And if Cloverleigh is all booked up during that time, check out Abelard. It’s not far from here, and it’s gorgeous. Cloverleigh is more American rustic chic, but Abelard is vintage south of France.” I kissed my fingertips. “Très belle.”

  “That sounds beautiful. So you’re a wedding planner?” Mariah asked Ellie.

  “No, I work for the winery. My mother is who you want—her name is Mia Fournier. She’s the manager at Abelard and coordinates all the weddings.”

  “Thanks,” Mariah said. “Next time we’re here, I’ll definitely check it out.”

  Chip returned with a full glass of white wine, handing it to Mariah. “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” she said. “We’re talking about the wedding.”

  He looked at us. “I voted for Vegas with an Elvis impersonator officiating, but I don’t think I’m going to get my way.”

  I gave his chest a playful shove. “You’re not.”

  He grinned. “I’m gonna grab another beer and check on Dex since he doesn’t really know anyone else here.”

  “He knows Winnie,” said Ellie. “He’s seen a lot of her lately.”

  I gave her a murderous look.

  “That’s so crazy that he moved in next door to you.” Chip hesitated. “And I wasn’t going to ask, but what was that about them . . . being in your bedroom today?”

  Sighing, I took another long sip of wine and told them the story. By the time I got to the part where Luna announced to the living room that they saw my bum today, Mariah was wiping tears. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. That fall must have hurt.”

  “My pride took the bigger bruise,” I said, “but I’ll be okay. The wine is helping.”

  “I’ll get you another glass.” Chip took my empty glass and headed for the island. A moment later, he came back with it and took off in search of Dex.

  Ellie and I chatted with Mariah for a few more minutes, asking her about her job with the White Sox. “I’m in media relations,” she said, “which basically means I’m a liaison between the team and the press.”

  “Do you like it?” Ellie asked.

  “Yeah, I do. I’ve always loved sports, and at one point, I thought about broadcast journalism, but turns out I like being behind the scenes.” She shrugged. “I could always try broadcasting in the future, but I guess it depends where Chip and I end up.”

  “Is he planning on staying in the game for a while?” I wondered.

  “I’m not sure,” Mariah said. “Pitching is really hard on the body. Most pitchers retire before age thirty. Chip is thirty-four, so he’s like a grandpa.” She laughed.

  “You’ll keep him young,” I told her with a smile.

  “That’s what I always say!”

  “How old are you?” Ellie asked.

  “I’m twenty-four.” Mariah glanced over at Chip and grinned. “People are always teasing him about robbing the cradle.”

  “A ten-year gap isn’t too crazy,” Ellie said. “That’s like your dad and stepmom, right, Win?”

  I nodded. “Yep. And they’ve been together for eighteen years.”

  Mariah smiled. “Good to know.”

  “Maybe he’ll retire and you guys could move up here,” Ellie said.

  “We’ve actually talked about that.” She lowered her voice. “Although he doesn’t want me to say anything to anyone, because he hasn’t made a decision. But we want kids pretty soon after we’re married, and I’d like to be closer to home once that happens. Family is really important to me.”

  Even though I was happy for Mariah and Chip, I felt a momentary twinge of envy—how exciting to be planning a future together, and thinking about a family of their own. I knew most people my age put those things off until they were closer to thirty or even older, but I’d always imagined myself as a young wife and mom. I had a lot of love and energy to give, and it made me happy to give it, so why keep it to myself? I just needed to find the right person to share it with.

  After Christmas, of course.

  Chip approached with a beer in his hand but no Dex by his side.

  “Did you lose your friend?” Mariah asked.

  “I did. He just texted me.” Chip frowned. “Apparently one of the girls is allergic to tree nuts and ate something that gave her a reaction.”

  I gasped. “Oh no—it’s Luna! Was she okay?”

  “He said she’s fine, but he needed to get her home and give her some medication.”

  “Poor thing,” Ellie said.

  “Are they coming back?” I asked.

  “He said they might,” Chip replied. “He just needs to see how she’s doing in half an hour or so. I hope they do.”

  I nodded, concerned for the little girl. “Me too.”

  We moved out to the patio, where I said hello to my dad and Frannie, my sister Millie, and lots of other relatives and family friends. I felt sorry for Mariah as she made the rounds with Chip because I knew she was frantically trying to remember everyone’s names.

  Every now and again, I scanned the crowd, looking for Dex and the girls, but they never returned. I couldn’t stop thinking about Luna and wondering if she was okay.

  When Ellie dropped me off around ten-thirty that night, I wondered if it was too late to knock on their door and check in on her. I didn’t have Dex’s number or anything, or else I’d have sent a quick text.

  In the end, I decided against knocking, since I didn’t see any lights on in their front windows. Instead, I waved goodbye to Ellie and let myself in, ditching my high, block-heeled sandals by the front door.

  In the kitchen, Piglet came wandering out from her hiding spot seeking attention, and I bent down to give her some. “What do you think, time for bed?” I asked her, scratching behind her ears.

  But I wasn’t tired yet, so I grabbed a spoon and the remains of my Frosty, and went out to the patio. I had a small table, two chairs, and a few potted plants out there, which I realized I’d forgotten to water the past few days.

  Setting the cup on the table, I lit my citronella candle to keep the mosquitoes away and went back inside to fill the plastic pitcher under my sink. Back on the patio again, I began pouring water into one of the pots. “I’m sorry, kids,” I said to my plants. “I forgot to feed you, didn’t I?”

  “Happens to me all the time,” said a deep voice to my left.

  Six

  Dex

  “Oh!” Startled, Winnie spilled water over the side of the flowerpot and touched a hand to her chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Sorry,” I said, rising from the cement. I’d been sitting there for the last half an hour, leaning back against the brick, nursing a beer and enjoying the silence. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t have any furniture out here yet. Or candles.”

  “Then you’re probably being eaten alive,” she said. “The mosquitoes are awful out here at night.”

  I shrugged. “I have all the lights off, so they haven’t bothered me much.”

  “How’s Luna?”

  “She’s fine. It was a very mild reaction—she just needed an antihistamine.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, sounding relieved. “I was worried when you didn’t come
back.”

  “The antihistamine makes her sleepy, so we ended up just ordering pizza and watching a movie. They both fell asleep on the couch without brushing their teeth—don’t tell their mother—and I had to carry them both to bed.”

  She mimed zipping her lips.

  “But they were sad about missing the party. I had to promise them we’d go swimming right after church tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like fun. Would you like to sit over here?” she asked, gesturing toward the chairs on her patio.

  My first instinct was to say no—as much as I wanted to deny it, I was attracted to her, and spending time together out here in the dark seemed like a bad idea.

  But then I reconsidered—maybe by getting to know her better, I could defuse the tension, stomp out the spark. Every word out of her mouth would remind me of how young she was, right? For fuck’s sake, she was out here drinking a chocolate milkshake. And I didn’t want her to think I was an asshole, especially after she’d heard me yelling at Naomi on the phone. We’d have to live next door to each other for a while. Better to be friendly.

  I glanced behind me—I’d be able to hear the girls through the screen if they called out. Their bedroom window was also open above us. “Sure. I’m going to grab another beer. Can I bring you one?”

  She hesitated, and for a second I panicked.

  “Wait—you’re old enough to drink, right?”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  “I saw the milkshake and I wasn’t sure.”

  “Nope—that’s just my chocolate Frosty from yesterday. Those things are my favorite, but this one is definitely past its prime. I’ll take you up on the beer, thanks. And no worries, I’m twenty-two.”

  Fuck. Twenty-two.

  “Be right back.” Feeling like I was contributing to the delinquency of a minor anyway, I went through the sliding door into my house, set my empty bottle on the counter, and swiped two cold ones from the fridge. My sister had brought a six-pack over for Justin and me earlier, but we hadn’t touched it.

  Before going back outside, I set the bottles down and crept up the stairs to peek into the girls’ bedroom—both of them were sound asleep. After a quick check to make sure they were both still breathing, I snuck back down the stairs as silently as I could.

  But before I went back to the patio, I ducked into the downstairs bathroom, switched on the light, and checked my reflection. Immediately I sort of wished I hadn’t, because my hair looked grayer and my forehead more wrinkled than I remembered. I tried to relax my facial muscles. I fussed with my hair. I tucked in my plain white T-shirt.

  Then I frowned at the glass. What the fuck was I doing?

  I reminded myself again that she was way too young for me, even if I was the kind of guy who’d mess around with a woman he’d have to see coming and going all the time—which I wasn’t. And the last thing I needed was an awkward situation when I’d moved here for a fresh start. That meant keeping my hands to myself.

  Even if she was the prettiest woman I’d seen in a long, long time.

  Even if the memory of her bare skin would taunt me every time I closed my eyes.

  Even if I’d frantically jerked off while thinking about her in the shower earlier—which would not happen again.

  I untucked my shirt again, turned off the light, grabbed the two beers, and went back outside. Over on her patio, the milkshake was gone and she was setting a plate on the little table with a maple bacon cupcake on it.

  “I only had one of these, but it’s yours if you want it,” she said, dropping into one of the chairs.

  “I had one earlier.” I sat in the other chair and popped the caps off both bottles.

  “Verdict, please. Do you agree with your girls that bacon does not belong on a cupcake?”

  “No. It was fucking delicious.” I handed her a beer. “Here you go. It’s no chocolate Frosty, but it’s cold and wet.”

  She laughed. “Thanks.” Clinking her bottle against mine, she said, “To new neighbors.”

  I drank when she did, trying not to stare at her lips on the bottle.

  Setting her beer on the table, she stretched out her legs, pointing and flexing her bare feet. “High heels,” she said with a sigh. “They look good, but they hurt like a bitch.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she had looked good in those heels and those jeans and that tiny little top. From the moment I’d seen her walk into the party, I’d been unable to think straight, and not just because I was scared she could read my mind about the whole getting off to her in the shower thing.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh, sorry again about earlier.”

  She flipped a wrist. “It’s okay. Someday I will forget how hideously embarrassing that was.”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said quickly.

  “Just the fact that my new neighbors saw my bum,” she joked, reaching for her beer.

  I frowned. “The girls have no fucking filter.”

  She smiled at me sideways. “That’s what they said about you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. They told me all sorts of interesting things about you when they came over today.”

  Groaning, I tipped up my beer. “Like what?”

  “Ohhh, how grumpy you are, how much you snore . . .”

  “Assholes,” I muttered.

  “They also mentioned how hairy you are and that you swear too much.”

  “That is a fucking lie.”

  She laughed—an adorably girlish little giggle—and said, “I told them about the swear jar my sisters and I used to make my dad put money into whenever he cursed.”

  “I heard about it,” I grumbled. “Thanks a lot.”

  “You might have met my dad tonight—his name is Declan MacAllister, but everyone calls him Mack.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, sort of glad I hadn’t had to look her father in the eye tonight. “So how are you related to Chip again?”

  “We’re actually not blood-related, but I consider him my cousin. His biological mom is April Sawyer, and my stepmom—who’s been married to my dad since I was four—is Frannie Sawyer. They’re sisters.”

  “Oh.” I stared out into the dark for a moment, remembering events from the year I’d met Chip. He’d moved up to Traverse City just before our senior year of high school and we’d hit it off right away. We were both on the baseball team, which had been really exciting that year, not only because our record was so good but because Tyler Shaw—the recently retired MLB pitcher and most famous graduate of our high school—had come back to town and was helping out the coaching staff.

  “That was pretty fucking wild, discovering that our coach was actually Chip’s biological dad,” I said, “not to mention that it was Tyler Shaw.”

  Winnie nodded. “Yeah. I was too young to know what was going on at the time, but I’ve heard the story.”

  I braced myself. “Were you even in school when we graduated?”

  “Barely,” she said, giggling again. “I was in kindergarten.”

  Jesus.

  I took another swallow. “Luna’s age. She starts kindergarten this year.”

  “Is she excited?”

  “I think so. It helps that Hallie is already there, although she can get anxious about things.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s a little bit of a germaphobe, doesn’t love eating in the cafeteria, also likes to have things just so in her desk, and if a kid borrows a colored pencil and doesn’t put it back exactly the right way, she loses her shit.”

  Winnie nodded. “That must be tough on her.”

  “It can be, because her behavior comes off as weird to the other kids. She hates being barefoot, so she’s always wearing something on her feet. Even in the pool, she wears swim socks.”

  “What about in the shower at home?”

  “Naomi, the girls’ mom, sometimes allows it to avoid a fight, but I don’t. That probably makes me the mean parent, but I believe in co
nsistency, and the doctor said it’s better for her if we don’t allow the compulsive behavior.”

  “Does the doctor think she’ll grow out of it?”

  “Too hard to say right now, but it’s possible.” I hesitated, then went on. “Naomi thinks Hallie’s anxiety stems from worrying about me when I was gone.”

  “I heard you were a SEAL. But not the kind at Sea World.”

  “Not the kind at Sea World. They would have liked that much better.” I studied the label on my beer bottle, picking at the edge of it with my thumb. “I was gone a lot when they were tiny. Back-to-back tours.”

  “But it’s not like you had a choice about that.”

  “No, but the fact remains—I wasn’t there when either of them were born, and I missed a ton of milestones after that. I had to watch both of them take their first steps on video.” I paused. “I don’t regret my choices, but I feel bad about the things I missed.”

  “And your ex blames Hallie’s anxiety on your absences?”

  “She doesn’t exactly put it like that, but it’s pretty clear that’s the case.” I paused and added, “I think she blames a lot of things on my absences.”

  She was silent at that, and I was embarrassed.

  Why the hell was I telling Winnie about this? I never talked about this stuff with anyone, let alone a near-stranger. I was trying to think of a way to change the subject when Winnie gracefully moved the conversation in a different direction.

  “Well, they seem like sweet, polite, adorable girls—when they’re not talking about my bum.” She brought her heels to the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around her legs, setting her chin on her knees the way a kid would. “I hope they don’t give you too much grief about the swear jar.”

  I harrumphed. “Too late for that. They already made one, although it’s more of a swear box.”

  She laughed. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, they used the cupcake box. And they wrote on it. It says ‘Daddy’s swear box—money for future cat.’”