Page 62 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“Is Brooke a lady?” Griffin asked. “I don’t know who’s a lady and who is a girl or a woman.”

“Same thing.” Emme shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, Brooke,” Griffin said sheepishly. “I didn’t know you were a lady.”

Brooke snickered, put down her spoon, and drank her milk like the rest of the children had. When she finished, she set down the bowl and smiled at Griffin, then winked. “It’s okay, Griffin. I don’t mind. I’m thirty-two.”

“That’s younger than Uncle Jagger,” Griffin said.

Brooke nodded. “It is. But I can assure you, I’ve never pooped in a baseboard heater.”

The kids giggled again.

One-by-one, they all finished their cereal, got up from the table and took their dishes to the dishwasher, loading them properly. Then Emme and Talia tidied up, putting the milk and cereal away.

“Wow. What good kids,” Brooke said, when Talia took Brooke and Clint’s bowls from them to add to the dishwasher.

“It’s all about repetitive training, combined with positive reinforcement,” Clint said, standing up and going to the counter where a ceramic dish with a wooden lid sat. He opened the lid and pulled out two small, square chocolates. Talia and Emme came up to him and opened their mouths. He put the chocolate into their mouths. The girls giggled, chewed, then took off into the house to find their cousins.

“You’ve trained them like Collies,” Brooke said.

Clint shrugged. “It’s more of a joke than anything. But, yeah.”

“Going up the hill, Dad,” Talia called from the front door.

“Wear a hat, and proper shoes,” Clint called back.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. Yes, Dad. We will.”

Then the front door slammed. Leaving Brooke and Clint in the house.

Alone.

With nothing but awkward silence hanging between them like an irritating cobweb suspended from the rafters, too high to reach without a broom.

She was looking anywhere but at him.

“Brooke ...”

“Clint, it’s fine. I said it was fine. I meant it’s fine. Please drop it.” Using the kitchen table and the back of her chair, she started to slide onto the floor.

He was up from his own seat. “What are you doing?”

“I’m so tired of asking for help. Of needing help. I can do it myself,” she said with a slight growl as she began butt-shuffling her way into the living room.

He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t be so stubborn.” He went to scoop her up, but she swatted him away.

“I can do it myself.”

“I see that. But I can also help you. Let me help you.”

With another growl, followed by a huff, she resigned herself to her fate and let him pick her up.

“Where to?”

---