Dating a Single Dad (10 page)

“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

F
ITTING
M
ILLIE
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.

* * *

T
UESDAY
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.”

“Hi. Sorry to bother you, but I want to talk to you without Millie around. Is this a bad time?”

He glanced at the windowsill in progress. Maybe he could work one-handed while talking. That would cut at least a few minutes from the task.

“I can manage,” he said. “But I’m painting. So if I sound distracted—”

“Don’t take it personally. Got it.” She laughed lightly. “Listen, I’m being sent to the Ottawa office again, starting in a couple of weeks. For three months this time.”

So that was why he’d had the feeling something was up the last time they talked.

He had no idea what to say. This would be the third time this had happened in two years. Much as he knew it was good for Mills and her mother to be in the same time zone, his brain couldn’t help but hopscotch to the point four months from now. Heather would fly back to the west coast and he would be here, watching Millie cling to a threadbare old shirt after her mother said goodbye.

Again.

His hand tightened on the phone. He wanted to tell her to forget it, that her constant comings and goings were doing more damage than good. He wanted to tell her to find a new job that wouldn’t keep sending her out here. He wanted to ask if she was coming back because Millie needed her, or because she needed Millie.

Oddly enough, it was none of those words that sprang to his tongue, but something entirely unexpected.

Sometimes, you just need to be a decent human being.

“Uh...wow. She’s gonna be psyched.”

That was as much as he could manage at the moment, but Heather seemed to understand. “I know this is hard on you, and on her. But I’m hoping... There have been some changes here. I’m hoping, if I do a good job, this will turn into something permanent.”

His paintbrush hit the floor. “You mean like moving back here?”

“God, I hope so.” There was no mistaking the fervor in her voice. “I don’t want to change anything with you and her—really, I’m not planning to change the custody agreement or anything—but I’m praying I can make this happen. I don’t want to mess things up, but I want to be there with her, too. To do Wednesdays and alternate weekends, to go to her parent-teacher conferences, to see her up onstage at the Christmas concert.”

Heather. Coming back again. Maybe for good.

His nod felt slowed by fatigue and surprise and that ever-present sensation of being one step behind. All he could do was stammer out something about getting back to her. He said goodbye, shoved his phone back in his pocket and stared at the white paint dotting the floor where he had dropped the brush.

“Son of a...”

He didn’t know what to make of this. His head knew it was better for Millie to have both parents close by, but his heart was running an endless loop of scenes from the last times Millie had said goodbye to Heather.

But if she moved back...

He swiped at the paint and scratched at the bits that had dried already and told himself to breathe, that they would get through this, that nothing good could come of panicking.

And that there was absolutely no reason to freak out because in those first knocked-on-his-ass moments, the voice of sanity in his head had been not his own, not his mother’s or Moxie’s—but Brynn’s.

* * *

H
IS
HEAD
WAS
STILL
whirling that night when he crawled back to the house after his second go-round in the cabins. He was tired beyond belief, aching in places he never knew could ache, covered in paint and sick to death of his own company and thoughts. All he wanted was to jump in the shower, read Millie a chapter of
Harry Potter
and hit the hay. He knew he should spend some time working on the Northwoods calendar or looking through Millie’s backpack or checking out her teacher’s website, but all that was going to have to wait.

He walked in from the cold night to a house overflowing with laughter, music and the sight of his daughter prancing around in the most ridiculous pair of sunglasses he had ever seen.

“Sequined shades?” He looked at Brynn. “When did you turn my daughter into a diva?”

“Daddy, it was so much fun! We did an exarament.”

“Experiment.”
Brynn rested her hand on Millie’s head and smiled.

“Right. To see if you could do anything to onions so they wouldn’t make you cry. We put one in the freezer and lit candles and cut them under water. Brynn did that one. But they all made my eyes run anyway, so Brynn said I should wear these. She got them at a party and she never wears them, so I can keep them!”

Her utter joy pulled a smile from beneath his layers of worry and fatigue. He dropped into the kitchen chair and pulled her close, listening to her excited recitation of the evening’s events while his gaze lingered on Brynn. She wasn’t doing anything unusual—wiping down the counter, rinsing off a knife, adding little clarifications to Millie’s tale in such a way that it made sense to him without ever intruding on the story. Yet when she reached for her jacket and bent to pull on her boots, a pang of longing arced through him.