Page 47 of Dr. Single Dad

I pause, wanting her to say more. Because I don’t see this going any other way.

Guinevere has finished her bottle and fallen asleep, if she was ever awake. Eira stands and places Guinevere back in the travel cot right next to my bed.

“I think you come from a loving family. I think you like to get on with things your way. Maybe you’re the brightest among them. Maybe you’re in a position to make more of a mark on this world than any of your brothers or your parents. You might be different than them, but your values, who you are inside, that was fixed a long time ago. And you’re already more of a father to Guinevere than my father ever was to me.”

I stand, and we’re inches from each other.

“You can’t know that about me. I sometimes wish her away. I think about getting a weekend nanny. An overnight nanny?—”

She presses her finger to my lips and I’m silent. The heat of her buzzes against my skin.

Maybe she feels it too, because she drops her hand. “Sorry. I?—”

“It’s fine,” I say.Touch me again.

“All parents feel like you do at one point or another. All I’m saying is, being a wonderful father and being great in your field, it’s, well—the two aren’t mutually exclusive. In fact, quite the opposite. What greater motivation to make the world better than having a child?”

She turns and looks at the cot. It creates a little distance between us, and I get the overwhelming urge to pull her toward me. To close the gap. To feel more of her heat.

Guinevere hasn’t stirred.

“Give yourself a chance. Flirt with the possibility that the two of you will rub along quite nicely together. You do so far.”

She looks back to me and I can’t stop staring at her. How her pillowy-soft mouth curves, how her hair seems to glow in the moonlight, how her almond-shaped eyes are every shade of blue at the same time.

“You’re amazing,” I blurt out. She looks down at my collar, no longer meeting my gaze. “You’re kind. And insightful. And patient. And…beautiful.”

I stop. I know I’ve gone too far.

“I should go,” she whispers.

I can’t disagree with her. Everything that could come after this moment is too complicated if she stays.

NINETEEN

Eira

John sets down some eggs on the kitchen island. “The key with scrambled eggs is not to overdo it. Never whisk. Always use a fork.”

When I woke this morning, I quickly got ready, not knowing when Guinevere would wake. It’s a new environment and her schedule might get a little wonky.

“Good tip,” I say, cracking eggs into a bowl. “How many shall I do?”

“Twenty, I think. Some will want fried.”

I laugh at the idea of making twenty scrambled eggs. “I better get cracking,” I say and give John a wink.

“Oh dear,” he says, his expression crestfallen. “Your puns will have to get better than that if you’re going to be influencing my granddaughter’s sense of humor.”

I laugh. “It was pretty bad,” I say. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

Dax wanders into the kitchen, Guinevere in his arms. My entire body goes up in flames. I don’t want to look at him in casehe can read my mind, because then he’d know I was a second away from sliding my hand over his chest last night and asking him to kiss me. I force myself to smile.

“Is she ready for her breakfast? Does she want eggs?”

Dax frowns at me like I’ve pissed him off and a shiver skates down my spine. What have I done? I’m not really going to feed his daughter eggs.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, his tone terse.

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