Page 134 of Summer with the Single Dad

Of course, her conscience—with her mother’s voice—was right. It was annoying, but it was right.

Leaning over, she pecked him on the cheek. “I get it. It’s okay. You’re probably right. I’m going to go to bed though. You should too.”

Sadness creased his face, then pain when she shook herself free of his grip on her wrist. “Justine …”

She slid into her flip-flops and reached for the door handle, emotion a hard, unforgiving lump in the back of her throat. “Goodnight, Bennett.”

He barely slept a fucking wink.

And he should have slept a whole fuck-ton of winks. He was bagged when he arrived home after setting up for the wedding, and the emotional havoc his discussion with Justine had on him didn’t help at all. It was what kept him awake all night.

What did she want from him?

A commitment?

How could he commit to someone who didn’t really know what they wanted in life anymore? Someone who was finding herself? Sure, she wanted to move here now, but what if her path of self-discovery pulled her back to Seattle? Or San Francisco? Or Munich? He had two children, a life, and a business here. His life was good, even if it was chaotic. And although he wasn’t ruling out the idea of a relationship anymore, or finding love again, he wanted someone who was as solid in their life as he was. Who wanted the same things that he wanted.

He slept in and didn’t go for a run, even though he didn’t actually sleep.

Did Justine end it last night?

Was her saying, “Maybe we should call it now,” her way of breaking things off?

A quick glance at his phone said it was seven thirty. Still early, but later than his usual Saturday wake-up time of four forty-five.

He slid out of bed and headed to the shower.

Today was going to be a shit show, even if everything went smoothly.

Two of the worst people in the world were marrying each other, and because he was greedy, he agreed to host their nuptials and feed all their stupid friends and family.

Think of the money. Think of the money. Think of the money.

Yeah, that was all he was thinking about right now.

And thank fucking god, he not only had the Viscount and Viscountess of Vile pay a deposit of half the fee when they signed the contract, but he made Tad pay the rest in full yesterday. So there was no way those two could put everyone on the property through hell, then skip out on the bill.

The kids were still asleep. So after he got dressed, he headed downstairs to enjoy a cup of much-needed coffee in peace on his back sundeck. His stomach was in knots, so a breakfast beyond a protein shake was out of the question.

Dom and Wyatt planned to head down to the pub around nine, and the service was at three in order to take advantage of low tide. It felt like they had a lot of time, but they really didn’t.

Tad and Ashli wanted to rent out all the cabins for their guests, but obviously, that was impossible. So they hired Gabe Griswald, who ran the passenger-only water taxi, to pick everyone up from the dock at midnight and shuttle them back to Seattle, where a big bus would pick them up.

It was a clever idea. And their only solution since nothing was available to rent on the island—not even campsites—this last minute.

Noise upstairs alerted him to his daughters being awake, and one-by-one they trudged down in their pajamas with their wild hair and sleep-crusted eyes.

“Can we have pancakes for breakfast?” Aya asked, her voice hoarse from lack of use. Her dark blonde curls were wild around her head.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time today,” he said, welcoming her onto his lap in the lounge chair on the deck.

She pouted. “Frozen waffles then?”

He nodded. “I’ll make pancakes tomorrow.”

She snuggled into him. “I had fun last night with Justine. Can she be in charge of us again?”

Guilt raked through him, clawing at his chest and belly. “We’ll see,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You have terrible morning breath, Little Bug.”

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