Dating a Single Dad. Kris Fletcher

like us. She’s our first guest. Our test...” Her nose wrinkled as she obviously struggled to remember his description.

      “Our test subject? Is that what you’re trying to say, my little scientist?”

      Her nod sent her glasses sliding down her nose. “Yes. Our first person. So we have to do a really great job with her, so come on, Daddy.” Tiny hands fastened on his behind and pushed. “Let’s go.”

      “All right, all right. Take it easy.” It figured. The one time he would have welcomed some company there was none to be found. He would have to muddle through this on his own. The story of his life.

      He shrugged on his jacket, took Millie’s hand and headed outside. A little blue hatchback sat at the end of the path he had cleared of snow. Yowzers, he hadn’t seen a car stuffed that full since he moved into his first university dorm.

      “Hello.” He kept his voice hearty and brisk as he approached the car. “Welcome to Northwoods Cabins.”

      The door creaked open. He spotted reassuringly serviceable boots—no heels, no suede—followed by long jean-clad legs. A head of dark hair followed. At last she emerged, giving him the full picture—one of those Icelandic sweaters the cross-country skiers loved, a hint of curves beneath the intricate design and a smile so dazzling it kind of knocked everything else out of his head.

      “Hi!” Her voice was brisk also, a bit lower than he expected and friendly enough to ease Millie’s grip on his fingers. “I’m Brynn. I take it my cousin is late, as usual?”

      “Sure looks that way.” He remembered his manners and stuck out his palm. “Hank North. This is my daughter, Millie.”

      “Good to meet you.” Her hand closed over his. A flash of something—heat?—made him step quickly back, but she had already abandoned him to crouch in front of Millie.

      “Hi. I’m Brynn. I know some people say you have to call adults by their last name, but Miss Catalano is just too long for anyone to say, so I’m good with Brynn. Or if your dad has a rule about that, I can be Miss Brynn, but that makes me feel like a teacher—” she glanced up at him, letting loose that smile once more “—so I hope we don’t have to use it.”

      Taylor’s words about this woman coercing Russian hockey players to do her bidding took on a terrifying new significance. When she beamed that way, all warm and accepting and as if what she were asking was the most reasonable request ever made in the history of the world, well, it was easy to see how convincing she could be.

      Millie pulled her thumb from her mouth. “Hi, Brynn.” From the way her eyes were shining, he was pretty sure that “Brynn” had become another way of saying “the most perfect person in the universe.”

      “Let me guess.” Brynn smiled as she tipped her head to one side, studying Millie. “I think you must be in grade...three. Maybe even four.”

      “Two.” Millie’s smile dimmed and her little shoulders hunched. Hank frowned. Was it his imagination, or did she do that every time anyone mentioned school lately?

      “Only grade two?” Brynn placed a hand on her chest in mock astonishment. “I could have sworn you were older.”

      That, at least, brought the light back to Millie’s eyes.

      “So this is the place?” Brynn straightened and looked around. Hank braced himself as her gaze roamed over the snug cabin surrounded by winter-bare trees. She nodded and smiled once more.

      “It looks adorable. I can’t wait to see the inside.” She moved toward the back of the car and popped the hatch. “By the way, Hank, Taylor told me you had to do some quick-time work to get ready for me. Thanks so much. I promise I won’t drive you crazy with special requests or anything now that I’m here. My goal in life is to be as low-maintenance as possible.”

      She probably intended for her words to reassure, but instead they set off a warning bell. In Hank’s experience, when someone felt obliged to assure him they would never do something, he could expect the precise opposite.

      Millie’s first subject might be more of a test than either of them had expected.

      Brynn lifted a suitcase from the back. “Millie, could you lead me to my new home?”

      They headed down the path, Millie chattering as if she had just been reunited with a long-lost friend, Brynn nodding and asking questions. He grabbed a box from the car and followed. He reached the cabin in time to see Millie grab Brynn’s hand and yank her to the center of the room.

      “Mills,” he called, but he might as well have saved his breath.

      “Okay. This is the living room, but it’s the kitchen, too, okay? Because see, it’s all one big room, but all the parts are in different corners. Aunt Taylor calls it open something.” Millie shook her head. “I don’t remember. But it sounds good. So here is your couch and here is your table, and here is where you can put your TV if you want one. Daddy says guests don’t get TVs. But you’re not a regular guest, so I think you will want one, because, you know, that’s the only way you can watch MythBusters.”

      “Oh, I watch that on my computer,” Brynn said, and Millie froze in place.

      “Really?” Her whisper was more reverent than anything he’d ever heard from her in church. “You watch MythBusters?”

      “All the time. Did you see the one where they tried walking across banana peels? I laughed so hard.”

      “I did! I loved that! And when they did the thing about the guys who escaped from—you know, that place, it was Alacrat—”

      “You mean Alcatraz?”

      Millie’s expression shifted from hero worship to complete and total adoration. It was time for him to step in.

      “Uh, Brynn? If you get Millie going on this topic, you’re never going to have anything resembling a life, if you know what I mean.”

      She waved his words away. “Oh, please. Like life would be worth living without MythBusters?” But she must have caught his underlying meaning, because she pointed to the freestanding island he’d installed the week before. “That looks like a great place to cook.”

      “Yes. This is your kitchen.” Millie puffed up again and led the way, shrugging off her parka as she walked. Hank tensed when Brynn’s gaze lingered on the ragged fake lab coat—accessorized today with a ruler and a plastic thermometer peeking from the breast pocket—then let out a slow breath when her lips spread in an indulgent smile.

      Shirttails flapping, Millie proceeded to open every drawer and cupboard, offering a running narrative of the things Brynn could either find within them or add to them. He sidled over to Brynn and nodded slightly in Millie’s direction.

      “Don’t feel you have to encourage her, okay?”

      “Not a problem. But you’re the dad. You call the shots.”

      It was ridiculous, the way those simple words warmed him. Yeah, he was Millie’s father. Biology said so, and the divorce agreement made it clear that he was her primary caregiver. But just because it was on paper, it didn’t mean everyone agreed. This was a nice change from what usually happened, when folks would ask him for his opinion, then check with his mother when he wasn’t around.

      “And now, this way!” Millie flew down the short hallway. Brynn hurried to follow, Hank tagging along with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, praying for Taylor to show up soon.

      “There’s the bathroom. I guess you know what to do in there.”

      “Millie!”

      “Sorry, Daddy. Okay. This is the extra room. Aunt Taylor said you needed an office so we gave you this cabin ’cause it has an extra bedroom, but she helped us find a chair and table and stuff for you so you can work here. Do you like it?”

      Brynn stepped into the room. He watched the way her gaze lingered on