Falling For the Single Dad

by Mia Madison

  FALLING FOR THE SINGLE DAD

  A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance

  Mia Madison

  Copyright © 2017 Mia Madison

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), places or events is purely coincidental. All characters involved in sexual activity are 18 years of age or older.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to the author.

  NOTE: This story contains scenes of a sexual nature and language only suitable for mature readers.

  CONTENTS

  CONTENTS

  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

  ALSO BY MIA

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  Tia

  We stop to cross the road, and Cassie gives me a hug. I appreciate her coming with me today, but I wish she’d stop acting like she expects me to burst into tears at any moment. So far, I’m feeling fine. It’s high time to move on and put it all behind me.

  “I still think he had some nerve asking for the ring back,” she says as we reach the other side of the road in one piece. Bexford is a small English town, not a major metropolis, but the traffic is nonstop.

  Cassie hasn’t quit going on about the ring since I told her Simon wanted me to return it.

  I sigh. “It’s not like I’m going to wear it.”

  Simon might be out of line, but I don’t care. I can do without getting worked up about the whole mess again. He’s moved on with Freya Riley, and I need to put everything firmly behind me too.

  Until I get rid of it, that ring will keep goading me whenever I see it in my underwear drawer. I just need to drop the thing off at his office and get on with my life.

  “Let me have another look before it goes.” Cassie has always coveted my ring. To be fair, it would have suited her bold look better. I’d have been happier with a smaller simple diamond, not a big cluster of stones that probably cost Simon more than a month of his hefty salary.

  I get the box out of my bag and open it up. Cassie does her dreamy look. “Such a pity.” She pulls it out of its slot in the satin lining and slides it onto her finger. “It’s a stunner.”

  “Yeah, but it’s going back.” I’m not even sure how I feel about Simon looking at that monster of a ring now. I’ve run the gamut of emotions over the last three months. At least it doesn’t punch me in the gut every time I see it these days. World shortage of Kleenex avoided in the nick of time. So, I let Cassie have her diamond moment.

  Yet I’m still nervous about keeping calm in the face of the man who was my fiancé for more than a year. I should’ve just sent the ring back by FedEx, but I’m hoping he’ll be out at lunch as usual, and I won’t have to see him. If he’s out, I can just scrounge a padded envelope from Tanya in reception and drop it off with her.

  “Let’s go out tonight and make up for it.” Cassie pulls the ring off her finger, placing it carefully back in the box.

  I adjust the ring a little so it’s sitting upright in its slot, and I’m just about to say yes, I could do with a large glass of merlot, when a stupid man with an overstuffed briefcase barges past us and knocks the ring box right out of my hand. He doesn’t even stop.

  And neither does the ring.

  It rolls off the curb and down the grating at the side of the road, disappearing with barely a plop into the storm drain.

  “Fuck!” Cassie shouts.

  Make that two large glasses of merlot. Make that a bottle. “What do we do now?” I grab the box and brush off the dirt on it as if willing the ring to reappear inside like a magic trick. Obviously, it doesn’t, and we peer down into the depths of the drain through the holes in the grating.

  “I think I can see it,” Cassie says. “Should we call the council? See if they can send someone? It’s their job to maintain the stupid things. If the holes in the grating were not so big…”

  People wander past, eyeing us curiously—women in Bexford are not known for staring into drains at the side of the road every Tuesday lunchtime. I can hear water trickling a few feet below the opening, but it’s no torrent. November has been dry for once.

  “I don’t even know if they would send someone, and what if it rains and the ring washes away before they get around to it? If we lift the grille, I might manage to reach it.”

  Supertrooper Cassie, the friend who’s with me through every crisis, tries to lift one side of the heavy iron grating despite her manicure, and I lift the other side. That thing weighs a ton, but with a struggle, the grating comes up, and we slide it a foot or so over so we can see properly down the drain.

  Cassie is right—the ring is there. I’m not sure how far down it is, but I’m going to try to grab it. I take off my jacket and give it to Cassie, gingerly kneeling by the opening. The drain hole is big enough that I should be able to reach right down to get the ring back, even though it’s the last place I feel like putting my arm.

  But I can just imagine what Simon will think if I tell him I lost his precious ring down a storm drain. He’ll think I did it on purpose. I’ll never live that down. He’ll be dragging my name through the mud on every social media account in existence.

  “I can’t quite get it.” I look up at Cassie. Hell. The ring is just a few inches out of my reach. This isn’t good. I wish I hadn’t sent Simon a message to say I would have the thing back to him today to shut him up.

  I eye up the hole. “If we pull the grating along a bit more, I can go down and grab it with my foot.”

  “Your foot?” Cassie looks at me as if I’m crazy. “I think we should just call the council.”

  “I don’t mean with my shoe on. I can pick it up with my toes. We used to practice picking up pencils like that when we were kids and had nothing better to do.”

  She shakes her head. But what have I got to lose? No one is coming to our aid. A motley subsection of the Bexford population wanders past, but they make sure not to come too close as if they fear we are lunatics escaped from an asylum about to ask the way to the bus station.

  We struggle with the grating and push it along farther so the hole is completely open. I can’t see any other option than trying to get the ring again. I have to be able to do it.

  “You can’t go down there.” Cassie looks down at the hole. “It’s filthy. It was bad enough putting your arm down.”

  Her phone beeps with a message, so while she’s distracted, I take off my shoe and sock and lower myself into the drain before she has a chance to dissuade me. I hate to think what this is doing to my clothes or what my foot will be touching.

  But I can’t afford to care about that. I’ll have to get changed before I take the ring back now. If I even manage to find it with my foot. Ah! I curl my toes around it. “I’ve got it!”

  Cassie has lost all interest her phone. “Er… Tia, how are you going to get out again?”


  My heart sinks. Why didn’t I think of that? I was so intent on getting the stupid ring and it was easy enough to get myself in there thanks to gravity. Now I have to hang onto the ring with my foot while I get out of the drain. “Try to pull me out.”

  She puts her hands under my arms and heaves, and then I try pushing myself up with my hands on the edges of the hole while she pulls, but I’m not budging. “I think I’m wedged in.”

  People are gathering around now—a gaggle of schoolboys, sniggering with their smartphones, an old woman fresh from the tea shop, a couple of housewives laden with shopping bags, and two men just coming out from lunch at the pub. A woman sticking out of a drain is apparently more of an attraction than two women peering down one.

  They murmur their concerns. The old woman asks, “Do you want me to call the police, dear?”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’ll soon have her out.” The larger of the two guys sizes me up as if I’m a baby elephant and he’s wondering how he can possibly haul me to safety.

  Then I see Simon. He must have been in the pub for a lunchtime bite. I know he sees me because he stops for a moment, his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’m about to ask him for help when he deliberately turns and scurries away as if he doesn’t want to know.

  Can things get any worse?

  CHAPTER 2

  Logan

  We’ve had some unusual rescues in our time, but a girl stuck in a storm drain takes the cake. I’m just driving back with Paul, another relative newcomer to the crew, after a false alarm in Camworth when I spot the crowd gathered around the drain at the side of the road.

  A “have a go” hero is attempting to pull the girl free, and making a shambles of it.

  He’s probably doing more harm than good. To be fair, it’s not simple without training. And it will be easier with two of us.

  The man reluctantly stands aside when we get out of the fire truck.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell the girl. “You won’t be stuck there for long.”

  She smiles and pulls a face. “I hope not. It’s like I’ve been planted in the road.”

  Her face is all grimy, but it does nothing to detract from her sexy green eyes and long, dark hair. And the rest of her top half is not bad either. I can’t wait to see what she’s hiding down the drain.

  Paul and I take one side each, holding under her arms, and lift her out. She’s lost a shoe, she’s grubby as hell and she’ll probably have a few bruises from her ordeal, but it looks like there’s no real harm done. Did some joker leave the drain open, and she fell in when she was crossing the road?

  I ask her if she hurts anywhere, assessing whether I need to call an ambulance. I can’t help noticing the bottom half of her is as attractive as the top. All womanly curves. Nice. I drag my mind back on the job.

  She’s trembling, but she shakes her head to my questions as her friend passes her a shoe and sock. Apparently, she didn’t lose her shoe as I thought.

  “But I didn’t get the ring. I’ll never hear the last of it.” She looks at Paul who’s starting to replace the grating. “It’s still down there.”

  “Is that what you were doing? Trying to get a ring?”

  Paul stops, and I shine a flashlight down the drain. I see it below—an engagement ring. Not a small rock either. A big cluster of them.

  “Hang on.” I stretch down for it, but there’s no way to reach it. How she thought she was going to get it out by going down there, I don’t know. There’s not enough room in that confined space for her to go down and grab it.

  “You can’t reach it either?” She looks distraught. I don’t want her to cry. Not if I can help it.

  I send Paul across the road to the dry cleaners for a wire coat hanger. He comes back with a hanger, and I bend it into shape so I can use it to hook up the girl’s ring.

  She seems grateful when she has it back, giving first me and then Paul a hug. She’s even hotter now she’s laughing and hugging me against her soft body.

  “You’re welcome,” I say. “Logan Patterson and Paul Barnes at your service. Ring recovery with bent coat hangers is our specialty.” Her smile could light up the dark days of winter, and there’s warmth in her eyes as they catch mine.

  Shame she’s taken. He’s a lucky guy. Not that she puts the ring on her finger. It goes right back into her bag. Maybe she’s worried about losing it again.

  The crowd disperses, their entertainment over for the day.

  “Don’t go throwing any other jewelry away, now,” I say as we return to the truck. For some reason, I’m reluctant to let her go, knowing that’s the last I’ll likely see of her. She smiles and goes on her way with her friend.

  We report the incident at the station. It gives the guys a laugh. And that’s all I expect it to be.

  But the girl turns up on the local TV news. Apparently, some kid with a phone posted a video of her in the drain and her undignified rescue on YouTube, and it went viral.

  I’m in it and Paul is, too. And when the guys see it, Adam says, “Didn’t you realize who that was? That’s Tia, the chief’s daughter. Sexy as sin, but he warns anyone off who comes close. It’s a wonder she ever got engaged.”

  I have to agree with the sexy description, but it doesn’t really matter how untouchable she is. I don’t expect to see her again, and even if I do, what difference would it make?

  CHAPTER 3

  Tia

  I could have done without the whole area knowing about me getting stuck in a storm drain. I really could. Thanks, world. I have no fiancé. I already have no job. And to cap it all, now I’m a laughing stock.

  When I first spotted the video in my Facebook feed, Cassie reassured me everything would be okay, that hardly anyone would have seen it, but it was just my luck that the story hit social media on a slow news day and reporters picked it up.

  “What did your dad say?” Cassie asks when she comes over to sympathize, and we get coffee to take up to my room.

  “He already knew about it from the guys at the station. They have to report every incident. But I managed to tell him it was me before the news got out.”

  “That was good.” Cassie settles herself down on the bed with her coffee.

  “He gave me a lecture about being more careful. And he ranted on for a while because he says the emergency services resources are stretched thin enough already. You know, his hard parent routine. Then he forgot that and came over all protective again, blamed the man who barged into us, and brought me my dinner on a tray on the couch.”

  “Sounds just like your dad. Don’t worry. The whole thing will blow over, and it will be funny in years to come. You’ll see.”

  “I know, but right now, it sucks. I mean, look…” It’s not as if Cassie hasn’t seen the stupid YouTube video already but I can’t stop playing it. I put my coffee down on the desk under the window and set the dreaded video going again on my laptop where we can see it from the bed.

  “Oh god, fifty-seven thousand views. And only nineteen thousand of them me.” For some reason I get the giggles this time. “Why the hell did I go down a storm drain just to get Simon’s stupid ring?”

  “At least you get to watch that fireman again. Logan, wasn’t it? Call it compensation for all this.”

  “I’m not sure it’s quite worth that. But I’m not so worked up about the whole thing that I can’t enjoy watching him pull me out. Look at those muscles. The other one, Paul, is not bad either, but I didn’t like him half as much. They were both nice guys though, getting me out like that, getting my ring back.”

  “Yes, they were. But who cares about nice when all we’re doing is looking. You’re right about Logan, though. Great body. You can tell that even in full gear. Strong.” Cassie sighs. “But he’s a lot older than us.”

  “I wouldn’t say a lot older. In his thirties, maybe late thirties at the most.”

  “Sounds like older to me. I bet he’s married, anyway.”

  “No ring. But maybe he doesn’t wear one on du
ty.”

  “You noticed his empty finger?”

  “So shoot me. I had rings on my mind, remember.”

  “Why don’t you ask your dad? Or pay him a visit at the station? See if Logan’s around.”

  “Yeah, like I’m going to do that. You said it. You know what dad’s like. Anyway, I’m hibernating.” I’m terrified there will be more reporters hiding at the end of our street, cameras and microphones ready to catch me out with a dumb quote. I shift about uncomfortably on the bed. I’m still sore from my ordeal and my skin has some interesting purple and yellow splotches. Very attractive. I can’t be allowed out in public yet.

  “You’ll have to go out sometime.” Cassie clicks over to a related video showing calendar pictures of hot Australian firemen.

  But I’m more interested in Logan, with his reassuring voice and strong hands, helping to pull me free. I remember the manly scent of him when I hugged him, and his dark eyes full of merriment. I like to imagine they were full of promise, too. But I keep that to myself.

  *

  Simon gets his ring back by FedEx. Not even dented.

  My bruises heal.

  I apply for graduate level graphic design jobs and hear nothing. The old story—no job without experience. No experience without a job. Or maybe they’ve all seen the video. Stupid girls need not apply.

  More than once I think about going to see Dad at the station to see if Logan is around, but I’m sure the guys have all seen that YouTube video, and I can’t bear the ribbing I’ll get. Dad would smell a rat, too. I haven’t wanted to go to the station since I was nine years old and that was to get a ride in a fire truck.

  But when I moan about the lack of response from yet another advertising company to my application for an entry-level position, he suggests there’s plenty I could do at the station if I really want to get experience.

  “I won’t be able to pay you, but it will be something to put on your resume,” he says.