Page 105 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“I prefer mermaid, but yeah.”

That made her smile.

“It’s going to be okay, Brooke. I promise.” Then he took the fork from her and speared a piece of feta with it, holding it up until she opened her mouth. It should have felt weird to have him feed her, but it didn’t. It was nice. He was taking care of her, and even if that care was temporary, she was going to soak it up for as long as she could.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was closing in on ten o’clock and dark enough that nobody should look twice if they saw Clint and a woman with a hood walking down to the beach.

But, just to be on the safe side, Clint dug out a mask from the pandemic days and offered it to her.

Talia was asleep, and Rocco said he was still on Rio time, so he headed to bed, too.

Even though Clint had no issues with Rocco alone in the house with Talia, after the last couple days and how Talia felt with the lead up to Mother’s Day, he asked Jagger to come and hang out at the house just as an extra precaution.

Jagger brought a book—like he always did—and sprawled out on the couch with his glasses on and his bare feet propped on the arm of the sofa, looking very much at home. “You two behave now,” he said cheekily, turning the page of his Sci-fi thriller with a flourish. “If you come back with yet another frozen body in your arms, I’m going to start thinking you’re the guilty culprit.”

Clint did nothing but roll his eyes.

Brooke came down the stairs in the yoga pants she was wearing earlier that day, and one of Clint’s oversized gray hoodies. This one said “San Camanez Brewery'' on it, with their company logo. She also wore a ball cap and had her hair tucked into the hole of the hat in a ponytail. Before she hit the landing, she tugged the hood over her head.

“All you need is sunglasses and you’ll look like the Unabomber,” Jagger said with a chuckle.

“You’re too young for that joke,” Clint teased back. “Here.” He handed Brooke the mask. “Just until we get down to the beach.”

Nodding, she removed the hood and looped the elastic straps over her ears, then pulled the fabric avo-cat-o covered mask over her mouth and nose. “This brings back memories I’d have soon forgotten,” she said blandly. “The dark ages.”

Jagger and Clint both grunted.

The dark ages, indeed.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“If someone recognizes me like this,” she pulled the hood back over her head, “then they’re definitely the person who tried to kill me.”

“I actually think you dressed like that is going to draw more attention to yourself,” Jagger said, not moving his eyes from his page. “Just saying.”

“You’re not helping. Even if she draws attention, nobody will know who she is, and that’s what matters.”

Jagger merely shrugged, then returned to his book.

Brooke slid into some slip-on runner-style shoes and Clint held the door open for her.

She pulled in a deep breath and exhaled loudly, staring up at the stars. “I shouldn’t feel like a caged animal, considering I can go outside, and this is far from a cage, but ...”

“I get it. You’re also not free right now. Fear is keeping you confined.”

He fell in line with her and reached for her hand. She smiled at him, and he squeezed her fingers as they made their way down the gravel hill.

The pub was closed now, but the staff still hung around. A few vehicles were parked in the parking lot—probably barflies who tried to push their luck and stay past closing because they were locals and knew Clint and his brothers. Sometimes they allowed it, other times, they sent them on their way along with the rest of the patrons.

The back door to the kitchen sat propped open, and the classic sounds of a commercial kitchen filled the air, competing with the music that flowed from the outside speakers on the deck.

Laughter pierced the night.

Clint recognized that laugh well. It was Burke, Wyatt’s right hand, in the kitchen. Wyatt was the head chef, he ran the joint and was the master behind the menus, but Burke kept the place operating like a well-oiled machine. He also had no problem playing bad cop and telling the staff to smarten up. A fellow military man—an army ranger—he was no nonsense when on the clock, but he was also fair, and had a great sense of humor, when the work was done.

“That was quite the laugh,” Brooke mused as they walked past the entrance to the pub and down around the back, under the stilts that held up the patio.

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