Page 41 of Summer with the Single Dad

“Mr. Flannagan is a fine teacher,” Bennett quickly corrected. “Aya, go change into your free-range chicken clothes, please.”

Aya huffed like he’d just asked her to do his taxes and not change into clothes that he didn’t care if they got stained or ripped. She peeled herself away from Justine and hoofed it upstairs with enough dramatic flair he was sure the Golden Globes would be sending her a nomination letter any day.

“Can you help me, please, Justine?” Emme asked. “Maybe I can get extra credit if I label more body parts that aren’t on the list.”

Justine glanced at Bennett. “D-do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Emerson smiled and opened up her textbook, scooting her chair closer to Justine’s chair where the two of them hunched with their heads together and began to fill out the diagram.

He was torn as he stood at the sink washing dishes.

On one hand, he was so glad to have Justine there. That she agreed not to leave. But on the other hand, her time there was temporary, and she was there—on vacation—with the purpose of healing after a traumatic event rattled her life and career. She didn’t deserve the chaos that was his life. And his daughters didn’t deserve the disruption to their world. They also didn’t deserve to grow attached to someone who would ultimately leave.

He knew it was wrong on nearly every level, but a small, selfish part of him just couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving.

He barely knew the woman, but what he did know intrigued the hell out of him, and he wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything.

Like he did every day, he finished washing all the lunch containers, dried them with the tea towel, then went right back to filling them all again for tomorrow’s lunches. It was monotonous and time-consuming, but he could do it with his eyes closed and one-handed, he’d done it so many times.

“Are you staying for dinner, Justine?” Aya asked, rejoining them in the kitchen in her play clothes, complete with several stains, rips, and frayed hems.

“Oh, I don’t want to impose. I’ll go grab something from the pub tonight. Let you three do your thing and stick to your routine.” She pointed to what appeared to be the tibia on the diagram and waited for Emerson to say the correct body part.

“Daddy, what does impose mean, and how can we make sure Justine doesn’t do it?” Aya asked, climbing onto the kitchen chair again and reaching for another strawberry.

Bennett’s gaze slid from his youngest daughter to Justine. Her cheeks pinked up and his pulse quickened. “We’re just having a chicken teriyaki stir-fry. With carrots, broccoli, and peppers. I always make more than enough. You’re welcome to stay.”

“Can you make edamame too?” Aya asked.

He nodded.

“And jasmine rice instead of babsmati?”

“Bas-ma-ti,” he corrected Aya.

“That’s what I said.”

“Yes, I can make jasmine rice.”

“I …” Justine started.

“Oh, please stay,” Aya pleaded. “Please. If you don’t, I won’t eat all my vegetables. I won’t eat any of them. Just chicken and rice. And edamame, ‘cause I love edamame.” She sat back on her heels and put her hands on her hips, flipping her gaze between Justine and Bennett with confidence, like she’d just pulled off the ultimate negotiation.

Bennett smothered his smile by turning around and fixating on the girls’ lunch kits.

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Justine said. “Are you a terrorist?”

“Daddy, am I a terrorist?”

“A terror? Yes. A terrorist? That’s yet to be determined. But in this case, we’ll say no.”

“I’m not a terrorist. So we can negotiate. What does that mean?”

He didn’t have to see Justine to know she was smiling. He could just feel her joyful energy. “It means compromising. But if I agree to stay for dinner, you’ll eat your veggies?”

“Yup. Doctors love people to eat their veggies, right?”

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