Dating a Single Dad. Kris Fletcher

good to know you remembered something. So you knocked and then waltzed on in?”

      “No, Daddy. I knocked again. A lot. But I was cold and she didn’t open the door and I knew she was home because her car was right there, so I opened up the door and I waited.” She glanced down, eyes hidden behind her glasses. “But then I had to pee.”

      If he got through the next ten minutes of his life, he could get through almost anything.

      “Please tell me you didn’t march into Brynn’s bathroom while she was in the shower.”

      “You know, maybe I’ll put on some clothes while you guys talk about this.” Brynn rose but Hank slowed her flight.

      “Hang on. We’ll get out of here. Millie, you need to apologize. Now.”

      Her eyes filled with tears. “I really had to go, Daddy.”

      “Mills, it’s more than that. Tell Brynn you’re sorry you let yourself into her place and invaded her privacy. Now.”

      She crossed her arms over her chest. Tears ran down her cheeks. But she said nothing.

      He glanced at Brynn, who was watching them with a mix of compassion and embarrassment that struck him as so endearing that he was brain-dead once again. Or maybe that was because the top of the robe had gaped a bit when she stood, and now he could see a lot farther down. The top of the sweet hollow between her breasts was plainly visible.

      Forget Millie. He was the one who needed to get out of there fast.

      “Mills. Say you’re sorry and let’s go.”

      “But I’m not.” The words were barely more than a whisper, clogged with tears and thick with emotion, but they came through loud and clear.

      “Amelia Jacobs North—”

      “I told you I was bored, Daddy.” Her voice cracked. “But you didn’t talk to me. You just kept working. So I left. Because I wanted someone to play with me.”

      “It’s not Brynn’s—” he began, but a movement from the other side of the room caught his attention. Brynn was waving in a universal time-out motion.

      “Could I talk to you for a moment?” She jerked her head toward the back of the cabin. “In private?”

      He probably should make Millie speak before he left her, but on the other hand, this way she’d have more time to feel guilty. Stewing in her own juices, as his mother would say.

      ’Course, he couldn’t remember a single time when that had worked on him, but maybe it was different for girls.

      He was so filled with irritation at his daughter that he barely registered the fact that Brynn had led him down the short hall. They stood in the small alcove between two doors. One stood open. The one to the bedroom, of course, with the giant sleigh bed draped with clothing—probably the things she’d planned to don when she came out of the shower. He caught a glimpse of jeans, something blue and sparkly and a bit of blue lace that he knew had to be a bra.

      He closed his eyes, but that which had been seen could never be unseen.

      She tugged the door closed, her cheeks pink once again, but her gaze was steady as she looked at him.

      “I might be way out of line here, but I have a proposition for you.”

      He couldn’t help it. She said proposition, and his mind jumped to the precise place it had no business going. Lucky for him, Brynn seemed to have a lot more class than he did. She continued talking as if she hadn’t said some of the most provocative words he’d heard in years.

      “I know you’re insanely busy, mostly because of me. I meant it when I said I’d like to help. Since I’m right here, and Millie seems to like me—which is totally mutual, by the way—well, instead of repeating this scenario, why don’t we set up something official. Have scheduled times when she can hang here with me so you can work without interruption.”

      Her words worked the miracle he’d thought impossible as his interest went from sixty to zero in no time flat.

      “No.”

      “Why not?”

      He would have barked out something about not needing help, being fine, coping on his own—but she wasn’t accusing, he could see. She was genuinely curious.

      That was a new one. His family brushed off his need to do things himself as Youngest Child Syndrome. To have someone actually want to know his reasons—well, it made a difference. Almost as much as the fact that she had crossed her arms and now her breasts were pushed higher and there was more cleavage visible at the opening of her robe and if he didn’t look away in the next three seconds he was going to do something really insane instead of merely stupid.

      “When I said that you’re our test case, I wasn’t kidding. Millie needs to learn boundaries. That won’t happen if she’s visiting you all the time. You might have no problem with it, but the next person to stay here might not be as understanding.”