Page 9 of Sexy Claus

Seeing her happy made his heart swell. “Sounds good. See you later. Love you, Bee.”

“Love you too, Dad.” She blew a kiss at him, like she had every day when he’d watched her walk into preschool and elementary school from the drop-off lane.

He fought to swallow past the lump in his throat as he stalked to the garage. How the hell had his little girl grown up so fast?

For a fair part of that time, they had lived with his parents. He’d relied on his mom and dad for babysitting services and so much more during the earliest years. Their support had gotten him through being a single dad while his daughter grew into the amazing young woman she was now—and they still propped him up on a regular basis.

She should have been mine and—

He blocked that automatic thought from his mind.

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve didn’t change the past and wouldn’t bring back the girl he’d loved, no matter how often his stupid heart wished for it.

He buckled up while he waited for the garage door to rise behind him, fighting the same battle he’d waged against his feelings for more years than he dared admit to.

Autopilot kicked in as he drove toward his first appointment of the day. He’d walk, ridden, and driven the route to and past her house hundreds or maybe thousands of times in his life. Most days he was able to resist looking, but something inside urged him to take a last glimpse of the now-uninhabited Craftsman home since her father had passed away two weeks ago. In a perfect world, it would have afor salesign in the frontyard, killing any lingering hope that she might return. The hope that refused to budge reignited as soon as the mailbox came into view.

Enough already.

He couldn’t keep doing this, setting himself up for disappointment day after day.

She’d sworn she wasn’t coming back, and her promise had held true. That fact wasn’t going to change.

His gut twisted at the sight of a car parked in the driveway. A heartbeat later, a figure appeared on the porch with a bulging garbage bag in tow. It was nearly half the person’s size. A brown ponytail the same shade as his first-and-only love’s hung partway down her back.

Then she turned toward the street, revealing dark eyes and a serious mouth he would know anywhere. He’d kissed those lips for the first time when he was fourteen and the last time on the day before she’d left Creekside at eighteen.

She looked up, like she knew he was there. A momentary visual connection sent an electric shock zipping through his body, short-circuiting every part of him, but he jerked his gaze away and kept driving. If she’d wanted anything to do with him, she would’ve searched him out, not that he was hard to find. She hadn’t made even a minimal effort.

His chest tightened and didn’t loosen at all through an inspection in the town ten miles up the road and an estimate for a barn roof replacement a few miles closer. Life went on, with or without his participation or approval, but seeing her seriously tempted him to ask for a second chance. How could his soul ache so damn much after nearly three decades?

He continued going through the motions for the rest of the afternoon until he detoured around her block on his way home. Avoidance could never purge her from his heart, soul, or brain, but at least the odds of seeing her again were considerably lower.

Despite the lingering pain, he made the final turn onto his street and let out a slow exhale. Brenna had always picked up on extra stress he carried with him and ferreted out what was bothering him. This baggage needed to stay locked in a closet well out of her reach.

He pressed the garage-door opener button and took another deep breath to calm his wound-up nerves. Before he pulled into the space that had once held his truck and Brenna’s car, the kitchen entrance swung wide and she rolled forward. Her wide smile chased away most of the sickening feelings still churning in his stomach.

She waved her arms, like she wanted him to hurry, so he grabbed his lunchbox and exited the cab of his truck. “What’s up? Did you find somebody else to dress up as Santa?”

Her grin became an all-out laugh as she backed up to let him in the house. “Nope, because I’m not looking. You’re never going to believe what happened today! It’s a hundred times better. Seriously, a thousand or a million.”

He tempered the first thought that popped into his head—that she’d regained some sensation in her legs or feet. The doctors had told him an expectation of that magnitude wasn’t within the realm of possibilities. He closed the door behind him and set his lunchbox on the counter. “Give me a second to take off my coat and sit down.”

“I can’t wait! But you’re definitely going to want to sit for this news.” She tugged on his sleeve and gestured to the closest chair. As soon as his ass landed on the seat, she handed him a manila envelope. “So, you know how I said my new therapist is in town for the holidays? A relative left a house to her in the will, and she offered to sell it to me. For adollar. She isn’t planning to stay here and she knows I’ve been trying to find an apartment or something to make accessible. She’s practicallygivingit to me. How cool is that? We can look at it before Idecide, but she thinks it can be renovated to work with my chair. Her lawyer will handle all the paperwork. The envelope has a detailed description of the property, a copy of the survey, and an appraisal. Do you have an hour or two to go see it tomorrow?”

Your own house? Not yet.

Ignoring the guilty twinge in his gut, he nodded. “Morning is better, but I’ll rearrange my schedule if I have to. Make the appointment and we’ll look at it.”

The hopeful tears in her eyes as she held out her arms tightened the knot in his stomach. “Thank you, Dad. You’re the best.”

He gathered her into a careful hug that lasted until she fake-coughed like he was smothering her. After a quick kiss on her forehead, he loosened his hold. “Anything for you, Bee.”

“I’m so lucky you’re my dad.” She gave him another squeeze. “I’ll text Christy right now.”

“Christy?” The word came out more breath than sound.

“Christy Rime. Didn’t I tell you her name already? I thought I did, but maybe not.” With her phone in her palm, Brenna tapped at the screen. “She’s usually really quick to reply, so we should have a time set up before supper. Do you need me to chop anything?”

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