Page 60 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“Well, I already told her about Jacqueline, so …”

“So calm the fuck down then. Jesus.” Jagger rolled his eyes. “You’ve got it bad for this chick, man. But something tells me, it’s not an unrequited attraction. So don’t fuck it up.”

Clint was afraid he already did, though.

He’d run like a coward after they had sex, then again when she tried to talk about it.

But that’d always been his and Jacqueline’s relationship. They avoided confrontation, avoided conversation. So he didn’t really know any other way when things got difficult. He removed the broken piece from the keg washer, grabbed some paper towel and cleaned the area. “It’d be easier to have this be a fling if she wasn’t living in my fucking guest room and my kid wasn’t already attached to her.”

“True. But we play the hand we’re dealt. Unless you’d rather she come stay with me?” Jagger flashed him a rakish smile and bobbed his brows. Oh, they both knew what would happen if Brooke stayed with Jagger. The man could charm the habits—and panties—off a whole abbey of nuns.

And Clint was having none of that.

“She’s fine where she is,” he grumbled.

Jagger tossed his head back and barked out a laugh, then slapped Clint on the shoulder. “Ah, brother. You’re an idiot.” He was still laughing when he walked out of the brewery.

“Dad! Dad!” Talia’s voice brought Clint back to the present, where he was standing in the kitchen in front of the cereal-munching children and Brooke.

“I think he’s having a stroke,” Emme said with concern.

“No, he’s just spacing out,” Talia confirmed. “He does it sometimes.”

“Maybe it’s an attack of nostalgia?” Silas offered. Then he turned to Brooke. “Can nostalgia attack?”

“No,” Brooke said with a chuckle. “But it can make you space out. Happens to me sometimes.”

Clint blinked rapidly, shook his head, then ruffled Silas’s blond hair. “Just spaced out for a second, like Talia said. I’m fine. No stroke. No nostalgia attack.”

“Well, that was weird,” Aya murmured, digging into her Rice Krispies.

“Super weird,” Talia agreed with a murmur of her own. “My dad is weird.”

“All our dads are weird,” Griffin said. “I found a bottle of weird jelly in my dad’s nightstand. It had a strawberry on it. Like Jell-O but wetter.”

Brooke and Clint immediately locked shocked eyes. Her nostrils flared, then a coy smile curled her mouth.

“Uh ... Griff, we don’t go snooping. Not in anybody’s nightstands or dressers,” Clint said quickly.

“I was looking for Kleenex. He said it was on his nightstand, and the drawer was open a little. I wasn’t snooping,” Griffin protested. “Honest.”

“I believe you, but,” Clint glanced at all the kids, “we still don’t snoop.”

“It’s probably like one of those energy gels that my dad eats when he does his half marathons,” Emme said. “Like a snack. So your dad probably just has it by his bed in case he wakes up in the middle of the night hungry, but doesn’t feel like getting out of bed and getting cold to grab some food.”

Griffin nodded. “That makes sense.”

Clint refrained from wiping his forehead with his hand and going phew.

The children were already on a new topic, anyway. Crisis averted.

Brooke’s lips wrestled with each other as she tried to keep from laughing and instead stared down at her bowl of cereal, spoon poised at the ready. Her body shook softly with mirth. She was beautiful.

“Does it taste just like you remember?” Talia asked, directing her question to Brooke. “Does it taste like nostalgia?”

Brooke’s eyes lit up as she pinned them on Talia, and put the spoon in her mouth, chewing with a sweet, placid smile on her face. “Mhmm. Tastes just as I remember it.”

Talia beamed. “It’s my favorite, too.” She lifted her bowl up and clinked it against Brooke’s.

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