Page 26 of Daddy's Heart

“I’m sorry. It was such a long day.” She stretched out on the couch, placing her head in his lap. Strong and secure, simply laying in his lap, put her in a safe bubble. “How was your day?” she asked, derailing the topic.

He blew out a long breath. His hand lightly rested on her head, then began to stroke her hair from her face. Over and over, his warm fingers brushed across her temple and cheek.

“We barely got anywhere today. First day on a project can be a lot of waiting around, especially when it’s a government project. I was glad to get out of there and come home.” His hand paused over her forehead for a brief moment. “Especially since you’re here.”

She tucked her fists beneath her chin and smiled. “I should have made us something better than tuna.”

He laughed.

“I’m not picky, and it’s not your job to feed me, little girl.” He dug his fingers beneath her chin until she started laughing. She shoved his hands away and sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears to see him better.

“I’ll be honest, I hate cooking, but I could have put some pasta together.” She folded her legs beneath her and rested her head against the back of the couch.

“I’ll be honest, I’d rather do the cooking.” He turned so he faced her and rested his head against the back of the couch, mirroring her position.

“Because you like cooking?”

His warm eyes locked her in place. She could easily lose herself in them—inhim.

His lips curled softly. Tiny wrinkles formed around his eyes. “No.”

“Because you have food allergies and need to be sure you don’t die?” she asked, hearing the little voice starting to peak through and too tired to shut it down.

The gentle smile broke into a wide grin. “Nope. Not even close.”

“Because you’re a picky eater and you hate vegetables, so you want to be sure no one sneaks them into your dinner?”

He laughed, a loud boisterous sound, eliciting a giggle from her as well.

“I prefer to cook for you because it’s what a Daddy does,” he answered quietly.

Thump.

Her heart fell straight from her chest and bruised her stomach.

“Is that what you are? Or want to be?” she whispered. Afraid speaking louder would break the mood and send her crashing back into the reality that she was on the edge of disaster.

His thumb ran along her bottom lip. “Only when you want that. Until then, I’ll settle for cuddling in front of the news and cooking your dinner.” His hand dropped back to his lap, and just like that, the bubble burst.

He would wait for her.

So, what was she waiting for?

“You want to cook tomorrow?” she asked when the silence stretched too far for her comfort.

“Yep. I’ll cook dinner tomorrow.” He nodded.

* * *

Ryder turnedthe dishwasher on and flipped off the kitchen lights. Samantha had gone to her room a while ago and was probably already asleep. He stood in the hallway, just outside her door, opening and closing his fists. Would checking on her be going too far? Would it be creepy?

They’d had the news playing while they ate, but he hadn’t heard a word of it. Samantha had been too much of a distraction. Hell, he’d been distracted all day by thoughts of her running through his mind. It was a good thing. Thanks to Chicago politics, the renovation the city contracted him to complete came to a standstill. While he hated delays, it had given him time to think about the little girl at home.

A thud came from behind inside, followed by, “Shit.”

He stepped closer.

“Samantha? You okay?” His jaw clenched. He just happened to be passing by her room? That didn’t seem at all stalkerish.

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