Page 23 of From Maybe to Baby

I look at my laptop, finally, tragically deceased. Then at the volcano, where Jonas is pointing out special effects to his kids with the kind of enthusiasm normally reserved for actual natural wonders.

"You're not falling for this," I tell myself firmly. "Not the cute dad act, not the perfect smile, not..."

He catches my eye across the pool and waves, kids still balanced on his shoulders, looking like every "Hot Dad of the Year" calendar cover ever created.

"...not any of it," I finish weakly.

My phone buzzes again.

Mom:

Sometimes the best adventures aren't the ones we plan.

Yeah, well, sometimes they end in homicide-by-laptop, too.

I glance at the drowned remains of my laptop, then at the hot dad who killed it, and finally at my pounding libido, which clearly needs a leash. Finding this man attractive is like spotting a shark and deciding it’s just a misunderstood dolphin.

Danger in paradise.

I type this thought into my notes app for later. Might as well getsomethingout of this trainwreck.

They sayyou can tell a lot about a person by how they handle turmoil. And if that's true, Jonas Knight is either a saint or clinically insane, because he's managing two post-volcano-show meltdowns with the calm of a meditation master.

"But I want to see it AGAIN," the girl—who has her father's blue eyes and apparently his determination too—wails.

"The volcano erupts every hour, Jace. We can watch it again after lunch."

"No, Dad." The boy stomps his foot like a pro.

“Lukas, you heard me,” he scolds.

I should escape now. Grab my dead laptop and make a run for it. Instead, I'm frozen in place, watching the NHL's Most Eligible Dad handle his kids with the same grace he handles body checks on ice.

It’s fucking hot. And I have ovaries of stone, that’s how much I like kids.

"Hey," he says, having returned to my end of the pool. "Sorry about the interruption. The volcano show kind of requires full audience participation."

"I noticed. Very enthusiastic crowd." I gesture to my laptop. "Though slightly hazardous to electronics."

He winces. "About that... God, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you."

"Pretty sure we covered that with tomorrow's coffee plan." Which I'm definitely going to cancel. Any minute now.

Really. I am.

"No, I mean..." He glances in the direction of the ocean and damn if his profile isn’t unfairly attractive. "Are you Alexa Minty, the travel writer?"

Great. Just great. Hockey Dad reads travel blogs? He’s so not my demographic.

"Um, well, I’m the one whose agent is going to kill her when he finds out she lost all her notes," I say with a frown.

"The one whose articles helping get me through my first year of solo parenting." He says it casually, like he hasn't just dropped an emotional bomb in the middle of my professional crisis. "Your piece about finding yourself in foreign places... it helped. After their mom..."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. This shit is way too personal for someone I’m doing my best to dislike. But I’m still nosy as hell.

“I take it Mrs. Jonas is no longer in the picture? Does she take the kids on their own vacation?”

He looks down, as if to make sure they’re not listening, and takes a step closer to my chair.

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