Dating a Single Dad

by Kris Fletcher - Comeback Cove 01 - Dating a Single Dad

  * * *

  HANK BLEW OFF the festival committee meeting the next morning so Millie could sleep. He called Brynn to let her know of his plan and asked her to tell everyone what had happened. It wasn’t until he hung up that he realized he’d made a critical error in talking to her first instead of his mother. Ma was bound to read something into this.

  That moment in the doorway the night before, with Brynn so close and tempting... Thank God she had backed away before he did anything. It was going to be hard enough to convince his mother that the only reason he had asked Brynn to deliver his news was because she had been part of the whole episode. It didn’t mean anything. As for that fleeting moment... Hey. He’d been exhausted, she had helped without making him feel incompetent, they had been almost touching and, yeah, she was pretty and he hadn’t seen any action in longer than he cared to admit. But no lines had been crossed. No relationships had shifted, other than her taking on child-care duties. There was nothing to make his mother suspicious.

  Thank God.

  All thoughts of Brynn and his mother were knocked out of his head when Millie crept out of her room with her bandaged hand pressed to her chest and tear tracks on her cheek.

  “Daddy, when will my hand stop hurting?”

  He dosed her with medicine, made her favorite mini-chocolate-chip pancakes and let her eat cuddled up to him in front of the TV. Maybe SpongeBob could cackle away the pain. But when the episode ended, the tears started rolling again.

  “I don’t like this,” she wailed into his chest. “I don’t wanna be hurt!”

  He rubbed her back. She needed to cry it out, his mother would say. Once she got rid of the leftover fear, she would be better.

  Ma never had a good answer for how he was supposed to deal with the parental guilt that lingered after the child moved on.

  The sobs were interrupted by a sudden gasp as Millie jerked upright, her face filled with almost as much horror as it had been when she realized what “getting stitches” really entailed.

  “My lab coat! I left it at the hospital!”

  “No, you didn’t, babe. We brought it home.”

  “I need it.”

  Crap. He should have washed it as soon as he noticed it in the bucket this morning. “Sorry, Mills. It’s dirty.”

  “I don’t care. I need it.”

  “I know, but it’s wet. Brynn soaked it last night. To get the blood out.”

  Fresh tears filled her eyes. “But I need it!”

  He was about to suggest they grab one of his shirts to use as a substitute when he figured out what she was really saying.

  “Do you want to Skype with Mom?”

  Thumb in mouth, she nodded. He kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier.

  “Okay. You go to the bathroom while I get things set up.”

  She nodded again and scampered off his lap. He grabbed the laptop and called Heather on his cell.

  “Hank?” Her voice registered the mix of surprise and worry that always accompanied unexpected contact. “Is something wrong?”

  “Hey, Heather. Everything’s okay now, but Mills had some excitement last night.” As quickly as possible, he gave her the details of the evening’s adventures, conveniently glossing over the part about him leaving her alone with the saw in the first place because he’d been fantasizing about his tenant/semi-employee.

  “Oh, my God, the poor doll. How is she today?”

  “She’ll be okay, but she’s hurting and a little shook up. She wants to talk to you. Is now a good time?”

  “Of course.”

  Thank God. Heather might have decided that parenting was best done from the other side of the freakin’ country, but over the past year or so she’d become much better at calling and emailing and doing as much as possible to be part of Millie’s day-to-day life. So much so, in fact, that he felt compelled to offer an explanation for the delay in keeping her up to date.

  “I, uh, thought about telling you last night, but I was pretty beat by the time we got home.” Plus, I was busy being fed and enticed by my forbidden semi-employee/tenant. “Then this morning I didn’t want to scare you by calling too early.”

  “Not a problem,” she said. “I understand.”

  That was another recent development—her willingness to give him the benefit of the doubt. No, not doubt. Trust. It was like Heather had decided to trust him more lately. There was a time when she would raise holy hell if she wasn’t consulted on everything, from which day camp Millie should attend to what she should wear on the first day of school. Pretty rich considering she was the one who left, but, thank God, lately that had eased.

  Millie bounded back into the room, already looking more cheerful than she had a few minutes earlier. Within a couple of minutes she sat hunched over the laptop, holding her hand to the camera so her mother could see her bandages.

  Hank usually tried to fade into the background during their calls, but this time he stayed beside Mills in case things took a turn for the worse. Sure enough, after the first few minutes of putting up a brave front, the tears started flowing again. Not just from Millie, either.

  For a second the old hurt flared. If you hadn’t left, you’d be here hugging her instead of crying over the computer. If you hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have been juggling this myself in the first place. If you hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have needed a semi-stranger to help me get her to the doctor last night, wouldn’t be depending on her to lend a hand now so I can—

  But no. He wasn’t going down that road. The past was past, what was done was done and all that mattered was making sure Millie knew that both her parents loved her. Judging from the way she and Heather were pressing their hands against the screens, that message was coming across loud and clear.

  “And, Mommy, I can’t wear my lab coat! ’Cause I got blood all over it and I thought I left it at the hospital, but Brynn put it in a bucket and it’s all wet!”

  Heather wiped tears from beneath her eyes and offered a watery smile. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. But Daddy will get it ready for you as quick as he can. You know that. And—” Suspicion crept across her face. “Wait. Who’s Brynn?”

  Oh, crap.

  He leaned sideways to face the camera. “She, uh, she’s running the big festival for the dairy. She’s been staying in one of the cabins.”

  “Yes?”

  There was a boatload of emotion in that one simple syllable. Too late, he realized that it could sound like he was about to confess a romantic involvement. The whole damned world seemed determined to throw Brynn at him.

  Best to nip this one in bud right away.

  “Mills, did you show Mom that pot you made at school? Why don’t you go get it so you can show her?”

  Suitably distracted, Millie hightailed it down the hall. As soon as she was out of earshot, Hank dove in.

  “Brynn gave me a hand last night—you know, helping along the drive, that kind of thing—and she volunteered to look after Millie for a while at nights so I can get more done around here. Mills doesn’t know that yet, but she likes Brynn, so it seemed like an easy, convenient solution.”

  “Oh.”

  There was such doubt in Heather’s voice that he instinctively tensed, bracing himself against her objections.

  “Well,” she said after a lengthy pause. “That... Okay, I guess I can see... She’s good with Mills?”

  “Very.”

  “And you’ve checked her out?”

  Oh, hell, yeah. But that was going to stop. Immediately. “She’s Taylor’s cousin. We have work references, obviously, but I can get personal ones if you want. She’s good with Mills.”

  “I guess it makes sense, then.”

  She looked like she wanted to say something more, and he sat up straighter, ready for whatever it might be. But after a
second she merely pushed her hair back and sighed. “Okay.”

  He felt like he’d dodged a bullet, and just in time as Millie reappeared with a lopsided clay pot in her hands.

  “Right. So, here’s Millie again. I’ll get out of the way and—”

  “Wait. Hank?”

  He braced himself.

  “Thanks. For calling, and taking care of her and...and everything.”

  He muttered something to cover his surprise and handed the laptop back to Millie.

  Something was up with Heather. He hoped it was that she had settled down and relaxed, but he couldn’t be sure. It made him twitch.

  So did his mother’s interference.

  So did Brynn’s very presence.

  If Millie grew up to be like the other women in his life, he was in for a hell of a ride.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FITTING MILLIE INTO her schedule worked so well that Brynn was almost afraid to say anything, for fear she’d jinx it. But it was true. She put in a full day of festival work—most of which flew by, because she absolutely loved it—grabbed a bite to eat, usually alone, sometimes with Taylor at a place that held special memories of Ian, then took on Millie duty for an hour or so. Usually, by the time Hank got there, she and Millie were scrambling to finish whatever they had been working on.

  The only fly in the ointment was that she was in Hank’s house. Rather, his home. There were bits of him everywhere she looked, from the jacket that stayed on the back of the rocking chair to the shaving cream in the bathroom to the balled-up socks circling the laundry hamper. It was too easy to picture him walking past on his way to the shower, tossing the socks like a basketball, doing a little cheer when they landed true. Too, too easy to imagine him naked from the waist up, pajama pants riding low on his hips, barefoot and rumpled and ready to be rumpled up some more.

  All in all, it was almost a relief when Saturday night rolled around and she and Taylor headed to Sam’s place for a wild night of harassing Sam, commiserating with his wife, Libby, and cuddling Casey. For a couple of hours she got to forget about misfiring hormones—both hers and Taylor’s—and reveled in the kind of laughter that could only be found among family.

  Except she couldn’t. Because every time Sam leaned over to give Libby a kiss, she remembered standing in the doorway with Hank swaying beside her, drinking her in despite his exhaustion. Every time she and Casey knocked down a block tower she remembered Millie helping him do the same thing at her cabin, remembered teasing Hank in her tiny kitchen and wishing he would kind of fall into her. Every time Sam sat back and laughed—so carefree, so casual, his eyes never leaving Libby as she swatted and scolded and snickered—Brynn found herself wondering how he had done it. They both had grown up in the same screwed-up home, had both been abandoned by their father when life went to hell. Yet here he was. Settled. A damned fine father. Crazy in love.

  It had taken a long and sometimes messed-up road, but Sam truly had it together. In fact, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember the last time he had needed anything more from her than an address or a night of babysitting.

  It was a surprisingly unsettling realization.

  Of course, being older, he had never needed her the way Lukie and Trent had, but still. There had been many a night in those first scary weeks after life went to hell when he would call—“Just checking in”—and they would talk for ages. She knew, as no one else had, how much it had ripped him apart to be away when so much was happening at home. She was the only one who suspected how lonely he was back then, how desperately he poured himself into hockey in the hope of helping the family by snaring a pro contract. And in the dark days after Casey’s mother died when Sam thought he might lose his son, Brynn had been the first one he called, the one he had trusted with both his child and his fears.

  She was beyond delighted that he had found Libby. She couldn’t be happier for them, couldn’t have chosen anyone more perfect for Sam if she had tried, as indeed she had a time or two.

  She had just never expected to sit in her brother’s house and feel a little bit like a guest.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts, fighting off her sudden melancholy, that it wasn’t until it was almost time to leave that she realized Taylor had not been her usual chipper self that evening. Of course, she was always a little subdued these days, but this night was worse than usual.

  Oh, crap. She’d been so fixated on her own needs that she’d completely forgotten why she was in Comeback Cove in the first place.

  She waited until they were walking to their cars and the crisp night offered a bit of privacy before saying, “So, kiddo, I get the feeling there’s been a new development in your love story.”

  Taylor stopped in the middle of the gravel path, hesitated, then shoved her hands in her pockets.

  “I should have brought gloves. I knew I would be freezing, but it was so much milder today that I thought...”

  “Tay, if you don’t want to talk—”

  “I had a dream last night, okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Taylor’s head tipped back as if she were searching the sky. “It, um, was a dream I really shouldn’t have had.”

  “Ah.”

  A moment later came the deep and ragged breath Brynn had been expecting.

  “It was such a good dream, Brynn.”

  Squeeze eyes closed, do not let yourself imagine... “You know, there’s a reason God gave us double-A batteries, Tay.”

  “What do— Oh! Geez, Brynn, not that kind of dream!” Taylor gaped at her before hustling down the path. “Give me some credit,” she called over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t tell you about those.”

  “Sorry. But it was a logical assumption.” Made all the more logical because of Brynn’s own troubles sleeping recently. Her body had decided that the closing of her eyes was the signal to roll out some vivid suggestions as to ways she and Hank might have helped each other fall asleep after Millie’s visit to the E.R.

  “Well, it was nothing like that.”

  “So tell me about it.”

  “I don’t remember much. I was in a house. Maybe mine. It wasn’t any place I recognized, but it had this homey feel to it, you know? I was in there doing something, I don’t know what, but then Carter walked in. And oh, Brynn, I was so happy. There was no guilt, no worries, just...just togetherness, and knowing it was right.”

  “And then he scooped you up and carried you off to the bedroom?”

  Taylor’s mouth set in a line. “I told you, it wasn’t like that. It was...deeper.”

  Brynn’s heart sank as she reached her little hatchback. Taylor was talking like this a lot lately, insisting that her attraction to Carter was more than physical. Unease flickered through Brynn’s veins. She knew how to deal with lust, with temptation, with attraction. But what if Taylor was right? What if she was really in love with Carter?

  “We need to fix this.”

  “I know.” Taylor sagged against the car door, her face a picture of misery. “I spent the morning practicing my affirmations. I read through the stories with Ian and I wrote a couple more. I’ve been keeping him firmly in my head, and, Brynn, honest, when I’m awake, I feel like it’s working. I like talking to him again—well, at least until he asks about setting a date—and I don’t walk around feeling like I’m going to burst into tears all the time. I can even be in the same room as Carter and not feel like I’m going to fall apart. Those things are all helping, really helping, and I am so glad you thought of them.”

  “There’s a hell of a but coming next, isn’t there?”

  “But...the dreams are getting stronger. Almost like my subconscious is trying to tell me I’m wasting my time.”

  This was getting worse by the minute. It was time to step up the intervention.... But how?

  “Look, Tay. I have
a suggestion. You leave pretty soon for the conference, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So from now until then, and even during the conference, immerse yourself in as much Ian as you can manage. Douse yourself in his aftershave before you go to bed. Sleep in his pajamas. Eat foods that make you think of him, watch movies you watched with him, wear his underwear if you have to. Write his name over and over. Write letters to him.”

  “But I email and—”

  “I don’t care. These are for you, not him. Write him letters filled with all those things you’re putting in your memory book. Remind yourself over and over of how much he meant to you. Do a poster filled with pictures of the two of you together, the way you want it to be in the future.”

  Between the moonlight and the streetlights Sam had added to the parking area, there was just enough illumination for Brynn to see the way Taylor’s face sagged momentarily before she dredged up a smile.

  “Okay. You’re right. I need to try harder, right?”

  “Right,” Brynn echoed, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. Because after a night of watching the real thing in action, courtesy of Sam and Libby, she couldn’t help but compare and wonder if the real thing should require this much effort.

  On the other hand...

  She patted Taylor’s arm. “Remember how happy Sam and Libby are. Keep replaying everything that happened tonight, but put you and Ian into the picture. Keep smiling.”

  “Fake it ’til I make it, huh?”

  “That’s right,” Brynn said, wishing it didn’t feel so wrong this time.

  She got into her car and sent up a prayer that Taylor was wrong, that this was nothing more than a combination of absence mixed with abstinence. Lust, Brynn could handle.

  That stupid flying Cupid was another horror story.

  * * *

  TUESDAY AFTERNOON, WHEN Hank was about ten minutes away from finishing the painting he needed to do before he had to clean up and get Millie, his phone rang. He cursed, pulled it from his pocket and frowned when he read the name.

  “Hey, Heather.”