The Single Dad's Patchwork Family. Claire Baxter

not the fainting type, then?’

      ‘God, no!’ She was as far from the fainting type as it was possible to be. ‘I’ve never done that before.’

      ‘Well, it was pretty warm in there. Lots of bodies.’

      ‘Yes.’ And she’d only been aware of one. The one standing next to her. She took another sip from her glass and felt the cool water slide down her throat. She was warm, but not warm enough to explain what had just happened.

      ‘You’re not…’

      She looked up when he hesitated. ‘Not what?’

      ‘You’re not pregnant?’

      ‘No!’

      He nodded. ‘It was just a thought.’ His face clouded. ‘I remember my wife fainting in the first few weeks of her pregnancy.’

      She breathed in and out, very slowly. She’d guessed he wasn’t unattached so why did the mention of his wife slice through her? It wasn’t as if she cared.

      ‘I’m definitely not pregnant.’

      ‘What about food? Did you eat any of the finger food in there?’ He gestured towards the function room they’d left.

      ‘No. I never do eat at these things. I’m always too worried I’ll get something stuck in my teeth.’

      After a brief burst of laughter he stilled, watching her face. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

      She nodded. She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud. What was it about this man that made her forget who she was? First she was fainting, then she was telling him her private thoughts. She was usually much better behaved.

      ‘When did you last eat, then?’

      She frowned, thinking. ‘I had breakfast.’

      ‘Nothing since then?’

      ‘I don’t think so.’

      ‘You don’t remember?’

      ‘It’s been a busy day.’ She saw him look her over. She knew she was thin, but not skinny enough to cause the frown on his face.

      ‘I do eat. It’s just that I’ve been busy.’

      ‘Have dinner with me.’

      It didn’t sound like a question.

      ‘I can’t. I have to get home. Damn.’ She stared at her watch. It was later than she’d thought. On the rare occasions she couldn’t be home in time to tuck her children into bed, she always made a point of phoning them to say goodnight. But tonight she’d forgotten.

      ‘Problem?’

      ‘Yes. My children will be asleep by now.’

      She fervently believed that all children needed to know they were loved and wanted, but when they’d already been rejected by one of the people who was supposed to love them unconditionally it was even more important to make the effort to let them know she was thinking about them. But that was the problem—she hadn’t been thinking about them.

      The truth made her chest heavy with guilt and she sucked in her bottom lip. She was normally so careful about things like this. She knew from experience how it felt to be forgotten by a parent. She didn’t claim to be the world’s best mother, but she did try to make up for being the only parent the boys had. She really tried.

      ‘Is your husband with them?’

      Her head jerked up. ‘No. My mother.’

      His eyebrows rose in a silent question.

      ‘I’m divorced. My mother lives with us.’ Her guilt eased a fraction. It wasn’t as if they were entirely alone. Their grandmother was with them and, as Regan looked at her watch again, she knew that her boys would be fast asleep by now.

      But this was the first time she’d forgotten to call them. The knot in her stomach wound tight again.

      ‘We have something in common.’ He smiled. ‘We’re both single parents.’

      Her stomach flipped. He was unattached.

      But she shouldn’t care. She didn’t need—or want—a man. Her jaw hurt. She’d been clenching it, she realised, and that was doing her no good at all. She sighed and lifted her eyes to meet Chase’s understanding ones. ‘I’m too late to say goodnight to my sons,’ she said. ‘It’s the first time I haven’t done it.’

      He grimaced in sympathy. ‘I’m sure they’ll understand. Kids can be very forgiving. How old are they?’

      ‘Will’s seven and Cory is five.’

      ‘And I have a daughter who’s nearly four.’ His face softened. ‘Phoebe.’

      She guessed he hadn’t forgotten to phone home.

      He got to his feet. ‘I’d better reserve a table for us in the restaurant before they fill up.’

      She opened her mouth to object, but the words wouldn’t come out. Because at that moment she couldn’t think of a good reason not to have dinner with him.

      She nodded and watched him walk across the bar. For once she’d let someone else take the decision out of her hands, allowed someone else to take control. It felt weird, but she was a little tired of being the one who everybody came to for the answer.

      Between her employees, her children and her extended family…sometimes…it was all too much.

      A touch on her shoulder made her jerk, her eyes wide.

      ‘Regan?’ Chase crouched beside the chair. ‘Sorry to make you jump. I couldn’t get your attention. Are you sure you’re feeling okay now?’

      ‘Yes. I was just…thinking.’

      He smiled and her stomach went into freefall. Oh, boy, she must be much hungrier than she’d thought.

      ‘It’s a bad habit. I’m always being told I do too much of it.’ He nodded towards the restaurant. ‘They have a table ready for us now.’

      He rose to his feet and held out a hand. She looked at it. If she took it, would he think she was interested in him in a romantic way? Because she wasn’t.

      He dropped his hand and stood back, giving her space. Part of her was glad. But, as she bent to retrieve her handbag from the floor, another part wished she’d just taken his hand. Now he’d think she was an uptight, unfriendly woman who didn’t know how to act around a man.

      It wasn’t true but, after the experience she’d had with her ex-husband, the last thing she needed was to feel attracted to this man. Or any man.

      At their table, Regan accepted a menu from the waiter with a smile. She selected the King George Whiting, a local speciality popular with tourists and for good reason. Chase ordered the same, then took the menu from her and handed it to the waiter, pushing the basket of bread rolls across the table at the same time.

      ‘Here, have some bread while we’re waiting for the fish. You need to get something inside you before you keel over again.’

      She groaned and took a bread roll. ‘I often miss lunch but I’ve never felt dizzy before. I don’t think that’s the reason.’

      ‘Can you think of another one?’

      She shook her head.

      ‘Maybe you should get checked over? Go to the doctor?’

      ‘No.’ She flapped a hand. ‘Total overreaction. It’ll probably never happen again.’ As if she’d waste her precious time in a doctor’s surgery when there was nothing at all wrong with her.

      She brightened. ‘I know what it was…I had a glass of champagne on an empty stomach and I don’t often drink.’

      ‘That