Page 12 of Driven Daddy

I glanced up the stairs that I was sure my mystery woman had escaped to. The faint squeak of old floorboards tempted me to go up and take a look for myself, but my pocket buzzed with a call.

I checked, then I sighed when I saw the readout. My business partner and best friend didn’t call often. We lived by text and email. “I have to take this.”

“No problem.” She handed me over the glue. “I’ll catch you next time on this.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

I snagged the glue and tucked it in my pocket. “Thanks.” Then I lifted the phone to my ear as I hustled out of the store. “Hey, Larsen. Tell me there isn’t a fire.”

“No can do, friend.” Larsen’s deep voice came over the line. “Priscilla upped the cost of printing again.”

“Motherfucker. She’s bleeding us dry.” I scanned the sidewalk and found a bench between two clothing stores. I got out of the flow of foot traffic and sat down, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees as I stared down between my boots. A trio of yellow leaves were chewed up from hundreds of shoes. Kinda felt like me. “How bad?”

He quoted a number that made my stomach drop.

“Jesus.”

“I know, brother. It ain’t good.” Larsen’s voice was heavy with every ounce of fatigue that I echoed. “I have some names of other printers we might be able to use.”

Not at all what I wanted to do this afternoon, but there was not any way around it. Even if I had to deal with it in the middle of damn Main Street.

I sighed. “Lay it on me.”

THREE

My heart was still racingas I sat cross-legged in the chair at the far corner of the yarn room.

What the hell had that been?

I was a nanosecond away from thirty, for God’s sake. It wasn’t like this was the first time a man had checked me out.

Not that his attention had been overly salacious. Sure, his gaze had definitely dipped below my neck, but I wouldn’t have shown off my tattoo if I hadn’t wanted someone to notice it. Okay, maybe the nice woman at Vintage December, a clothing store a few doors down, had given me a boost to show a little skin.

I’d been young and angry when I was seventeen and had done plenty of other things that were far more questionable than a big tattoo right over my breasts.

The heavy and thorough gaze from the mystery guy was what had me all buzzy. He’d perused every ounce of me that was visible through the huge window, and if I hadn’t bought the very expensive and very appealing bra with the dress, I’d have flashed him just how interested I was.

Which wasnotme.

Had it been leftover from the hot cop action from the day before? Had something inside of me been activated by the lake air?

That was just silly, even for me—a romance author.

How many different scenarios had I written over the last decade of my career? That epic first meet followed by the instant attraction.

Fiction.

Notreal.

At least not real for me.

I pushed myself out of the comfy bowl-shaped chair among the massive cubbies of yarn where I’d been quasi-hiding. It reminded me of a chair I’d had in college. Mostly because I hadn’t been able to afford anything but thrift market furniture. This one was a little sturdier than the old papasan chair of my youth.

I peeked around the corner to find a stunning brunette standing at the top of the stairs.

She smiled, unsurprised to find me up here. “Hello there.”

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