The Daddy Wish. Brenda Harlen

night, it was as if a switch had flicked inside him, causing awareness to course through his blood like a high-voltage electrical current. And he didn’t even know why. Sure, she looked different—but not drastically different.

      Her hair, always tied in a knot at the back of her head at the office, was similarly styled, but the effect was softer somehow, with a few strands escaping to frame her face, emphasizing her delicate bone structure and creamy skin. Her eyes seemed bigger and darker, and her lips were glossy and pink, and deliciously tempting.

      He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her in a dress before. Certainly he’d never seen her in a dark green off-the-shoulder style that hugged her slender torso and flared out into a flirty little skirt that skimmed a few inches above her knees. Or in three-inch heels that emphasized shapely legs and actually made his mouth water.

      She sat with a group of coworkers from the finance department for the meal, and he found himself sneaking glances in her direction—trying to figure out why he was so suddenly and inexplicably captivated by a woman he’d known for four years. He saw her dancing a couple of times early in the evening. She seemed to be pretty tight with Skylar Lockwood, his cousin’s office administrator, and they looked to be enjoying themselves. The music was mostly fast and upbeat, with the occasional slow song thrown in to give the dancers a chance to catch their collective breath.

      During one of those times, he watched his dad lead his mom to the dance floor. Even after more than forty years of marriage, they had eyes only for each other, and the obvious closeness and affection between them warmed something inside him. He’d never wanted what they had—and what each of his brothers had found with their respective spouses. And yet, he’d recently found himself considering that he might be ready for something more than the admittedly shallow relationships that had been the norm in his life for so long. Not that he was looking to put a ring on any woman’s finger, but maybe a toothbrush in her bathroom wouldn’t be so bad.

      The vibration of his phone against his hip had him moving out of the ballroom to respond to the call. The name on the display gave him pause. Mallory was definitely not a woman with whom he would ever have something more, although there had been a time when he’d believed otherwise. Then he’d found out that his flight attendant girlfriend had also been dating a pilot she worked with, an Australian entrepreneur and a French banker during the time they were together.

      More than a year after their final breakup, he had to wonder why she was reaching out to him now. And because he was curious, he answered the call. The connection wasn’t great, so he moved into the cloakroom—where it was a little bit quieter and more private—to talk to her. While her claims of missing him had soothed his bruised ego, he wasn’t at all tempted by her explicit offer to reconnect when she passed through town again.

      He’d just tucked the phone back into his pocket when Allison had come in to get her coat. And in that moment, he completely forgot about Mallory and every other woman he’d ever dated. In that moment, he wanted only Allison.

      And when he noticed that someone had pinned a sprig of mistletoe in the center of the arched entranceway, he couldn’t resist using it to his advantage.

      “Refill?”

      The question jarred him back to the present. He glanced up at Chelsea, who was pointing to his empty glass.

      “Sure.”

      The bartender nodded, then shifted her attention to Allison. “One more?”

      She shook her head. “No, I’m going to head home.”

      “Alone?”

      “Yes, alone,” she said firmly, definitively.

      “But it’s late,” Chelsea protested, looking pointedly in Nate’s direction.

      “I live down the street,” Allison reminded her.

      “Down a dark street.”

      She shook her head. “Could I have my bill, please?”

      Her friend looked at Nate again before she moved to the cash register to calculate the tab.

      He knew how to take a hint—and he appreciated the opportunity the bartender had given to him. “I can give you a lift home,” he told Allison.

      “I really do live just down the street—it’s not even far enough to drive.”

      “Then I’ll walk with you,” he said.

      “I appreciate the offer,” she said. “But it’s not necessary.”

      “Chelsea thinks it is.”

      “I don’t think that’s what Chelsea’s thinking,” she admitted to him.

      His brows lifted at that; Allison just shook her head.

      When Chelsea returned with the bill, Nate passed her his credit card. “Add my drink and put it on that.”

      “I can pay my own bill,” Allison protested, but her friend had already walked away again.

      “You shared your spinach dip with me,” Nate reminded her.

      “I wouldn’t have eaten the whole thing by myself—or shouldn’t have, anyway.” But when he signed his name to the credit card receipt Chelsea put in front of him, she accepted that it was an argument that she wasn’t going to win. “Thank you, Mr. Garrett.”

      “Nate,” he reminded her.

      She slid off of her stool and picked up her coat. He rose to his feet, intending to walk her to her door.

      “I’m just going to the ladies’ room,” she told him.

      “Oh.” He sat down again, and watched out of the corner of his eye as she headed toward the alcove with the restrooms.

      Chelsea finished serving another patron at the bar, then came back to him, shaking her head. “You’re too accustomed to women falling at your feet, aren’t you?”

      He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

      “I’m talking about the fact that you just let Allison slip out the door.”

      “She just went to the ladies’ room.”

      “With her coat?”

      He swore under his breath as he reached for his own.

      Chelsea put her hand on his arm, shaking her head. “If you chase after her now, you’re not only going to look pathetic, you’re going to scare her away.”

      He scowled at that.

      “I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to walk her home,” she continued. “But maybe you’re not as interested as I thought.”

      “Just because you once dated my brother for a few weeks doesn’t give you the right to pry into my personal life.”

      “No,” she agreed. “But the fact that I’m Allison’s best friend gives me the right to pry into hers.”

      “Then why aren’t you talking to her?”

      “I tried,” she admitted. “But she doesn’t kiss and tell.”

      However, the twinkle in her eye in conjunction with her word choice suggested that she knew more than she was letting on.

      “Neither do I,” he said.

      “So don’t talk,” she said. “Just listen.”

      He picked up his soda and sipped.

      “She doesn’t date—or hardly ever, and she definitely doesn’t sleep around. So if you’re not looking for anything more than a good time, you should look elsewhere.”

      “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he admitted.

      “Then you better figure it out. And if you decide you want Allison, be prepared for the obstacles she’ll put in your path every step of the