The Daddy Project: A Single Dad Romance. Lee McKenzie

the heel and gave it a shake, sending a spatter of drool across the floor.

      Kristi shuddered.

      “Girls, remember what we talked about? You need to put your things in the closet.”

      “That’s Martha’s,” Molly said. “Mine are outside.”

      Martha tugged the boot out of the dog’s mouth, tossed it onto the pile of things in the bottom of the closet and tried unsuccessfully to close the bifold door. She was remarkably adept at doing things with one hand.

      “Sorry about the mess,” Nate said. “If I had remembered you were coming, I would have tidied up.”

      Kristi couldn’t tell if the closet door wouldn’t close because the pile of clothing and footwear was in the way or if a hinge was broken, or both. She made a mental note to have Sam take a look at it, and added storage baskets to the list already forming in her head. She lived with a teenage girl and a dog so she knew a thing or two about clutter. At least the slate tile floor was clean, which, given the amount of traffic generated by two small children and one large dog, was a good sign. This man must be a decent housekeeper, or maybe he had a cleaning service. Either option scored him some points. The children looked well cared for, too, and in the grand scheme of things they were most important.

      All this made Nate McTavish pretty much the opposite of the deadbeat dads in her life. That, along with his offhand charm and those heart-stopping eyes, should elevate her opinion of him. Instead the combination set off a loud clamor of mental alarm bells.

      Get over yourself. Quiver-inducing blue eyes aside, she was here to do a job, not strike up an unwelcome relationship with a client.

      “Not a problem. That’s why I’m here.” And if the rest of the house was anything like the foyer, she had her work cut out for her.

      “Where would you like to start?” he asked.

      “Is this the living room?” she asked, pointing to a pair of mullioned glass doors. With the frosted glass, they looked more like Japanese rice paper than traditional French doors.

      He hesitated, then reluctantly pushed them open. “It is. We almost never use it so I keep the doors closed.”

      Kristi surveyed the interior. The curtains were closed and the room was dark and cool. The vaulted cedar-plank ceiling was draped with yellow-and-mauve crepe paper and clusters of matching balloons. Several balloons appeared to have come loose and were now on the floor, looking a little deflated.

      “We had the girls’ birthday party here last week and I didn’t get around to taking down the decorations. I’ll be sure to do that tonight.”

      Martha clung to her father’s hand but Molly scampered into the room and attempted a balloon toss. The massive dog lumbered in behind her. The yellow blob of a balloon slithered to the floor so the child stomped on it instead. When it didn’t pop, she lost interest and rejoined her father and sister. The dog nudged it with its nose, picked it up and gave it a chomp. Still no pop, so the Saint dropped the slobbery mass in the middle of the sisal area rug.

      The room was furnished with comfortable-looking furniture and there was an abundance of books and newspapers, a few kids’ toys and dog toys, and sofa cushions that needed straightening.

      Kristi took her camera out of her bag and looped the strap around her neck. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to photograph each room. When I get back to my place…my office—” He didn’t need to know she did most of her work out of the back of her minivan and at one end of her kitchen table. “The photographs help me create a design plan and draw up a budget.”

      “Fine with me. Are you okay to look around on your own? I still have some work to do outside.” He pulled his gardening gloves back on.

      “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll look through the house and we can talk when I’m done.”

      “And I will tidy up in here tonight,” he assured her again.

      The week-old remnants of the party seemed to embarrass him. Kristi didn’t see them as a problem, quite the opposite. At least there had been a party, and that was definitely to his credit. She couldn’t remember the last time Jenna’s dad had even called to wish their daughter a happy birthday. Gifts? Not even a consideration.

      “Molly. Martha. Let’s go. You can play outside while I work.”

      “Daddy, why is she taking pictures?”

      “She needs to know what the house looks like.”

      He took Molly’s hand and coaxed her out of the room along with her sister, who needed no urging at all. The dog seemed content to amble along after them.

      “Why?”

      “Because.”

      “Because why?”

      “Because she just does.”

      To say Nate McTavish was overwhelmed by single-parenthood would be the understatement of the century, but what he lacked in technique, he made up for with patience. In spades.

      As he walked away, she smiled at the green lettering on the back of his T-shirt. Go Green With Photosynthesis. At least now the equation on the front made sense, and confirmed her guess that he probably was a gardener. Her gaze dropped a little lower. There was a lot to be said for a flattering pair of jeans, but these particular jeans were simply magic. She quickly looked away. You have a job to do, and that is not it.

      Since her ex, Derek the Deadbeat, had left twelve years ago, she had been on a number of casual dates, mostly with men her family and friends had set her up with, but she had guarded against anything that would distract her from becoming a self-sufficient single mom and career woman.

      Everything about this man was distracting. The hair that could use a trim but suited him anyway, his being oblivious to the streak of dirt on his forehead, and oh…those eyes. She never felt awkward with new clients, but if she’d had to go through every room in the house with him, knowing those eyes watched every move she made, she would not have been able to focus. Especially after the moment they’d had when she tripped over the little yellow boot. And it hadn’t just been her moment. He’d felt it, too. She was sure of it.

      With him out of the room if not entirely out of her mind, she pulled open the heavy drapes and imagined the clutter away. The rich wood of the floors and beamed ceiling created a warm contrast to the polished river rock of the open-hearth fireplace. She would start staging in this room, she decided. The fireplace was the focal point of the room, and it would create the perfect jumping-off point for the casual West Coast decor she would carry throughout the house. She didn’t even need to see the other rooms to know she could make it work.

      She raised her camera, snapped a photo of the fireplace and then systematically documented the rest of the room.

      Her BlackBerry buzzed before she had a chance to move on. It was her mother. She could either take the call now or wade through a half dozen messages later on. Kristi adored her mom, but in the history of motherhood, Gwen Callahan’s persistence in checking up on her daughter was unmatched.

      “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

      “Hello, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

      “Actually, I’m in the middle of a job.”

      “Oh. Well then, this’ll just take a minute.”

      I suppose there’s a first time for everything. “What would you like?”

      “I was just talking to my old friend, Cathie Halverson. You remember her, don’t you? They lived across the street when you were in high school, then they moved to Spokane.”

      “Ye-e-e-e-s.” Kristi already knew where this was going.

      “Her son Bernard has just moved back to Seattle. I’m sure you remember him.”

      All too well. Bernie Halverson had asked her to a school dance when she was