Page 15 of Single Daddy Doctor Dreamy

Her eyes soften, and for a moment, the distance between us seems to fade. “You’re welcome,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

I turn to head upstairs, but I can feel her gaze on me. When I glance back, our eyes meet, and the longing I’ve been trying so hard to suppress rises to the surface. It’s there, raw and undeniable, and I know she sees it.

Later that night, after the boys are asleep and the house is quiet, I sit in my office, staring at the pile of papers on my desk. Ishould be reviewing them, preparing for the upcoming board meeting, but my mind is elsewhere.

A knock at the outside door to my office pulls me from my thoughts. I don’t know who would be at the patio door, especially at night, but when I open it, there’s no one there. Instead, an envelope rests on the mat, unmarked and unassuming.

Frowning, I pick it up and tear it open. Inside is a single sheet of paper, the words typed in a neat, anonymous font:

Be careful who you trust. Not everyone wants you to succeed.

My chest tightens as I read it again, the implications sinking in. Someone is trying to rattle me, to throw me off balance. And I have a sinking feeling I know exactly who it is.

The words replay in my mind as I set the note down, the edges of the paper crumpling under my grip. Rivkin. It has to be him. No one else would have the motive or the audacity. My mind whirls, cataloging every interaction, every sideways comment he’s made over the past few weeks.

A soft knock breaks my spiraling thoughts. It’s Lucy, standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Hey,” she says, stepping inside. “I saw your light on. Everything okay?”

I hesitate, the note still sitting on my desk, its presence as glaring as a neon sign. But I don’t want to pull her into this. She’s already caught in enough of my chaos.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “Just work stuff.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she sits on the edge of my desk, her gaze searching mine.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says softly. “Is it the promotion?”

“Partly,” I admit. “There’s a lot at stake.”

“Joel,” she says, her voice steady. “You’re good at what you do. Anyone can see that. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.”

Her words are meant to reassure me, but they only deepen the ache in my chest. Because the truth is, I’m not just trying to prove myself to the board. I’m trying to prove that I can balance everything. The boys, my career, and whatever it is that’s growing between Lucy and me.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing mine, and the simple gesture sends a jolt through me. For a moment, the note, the promotion, the gossip, it all fades. There’s only her, sitting here in the dim light, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

But then she pulls back, her hand dropping to her lap. “I should let you get back to work,” she says, standing.

“Lucy.” Her name slips out before I can stop it.

She pauses, turning back to look at me. There’s something in her eyes—a flicker of hope, of uncertainty. But I can’t bring myself to say what I want to. The words stick in my throat, tangled with fear and doubt.

“Goodnight,” I say instead, hating myself for the way her face falls just slightly before she nods and walks out.

As the door clicks shut behind her, I pick up the note again, its ominous message staring back at me. Whatever happens next, I know one thing for certain: I can’t afford to lose focus. Not now. Not when everything—my career, my family, Lucy—is on the line.

7

LUCY

Sunday mornings at the Anderson house usually have a cozy kind of chaos. It’s one of the few times when the boys are allowed to watch cartoons and just chill. But, right now, Miles and Finn are bickering over which cereal tastes better, and Joel’s gruff morning voice is cutting through the noise with his signature "Let’s not argue before breakfast" line. But today, the atmosphere feels heavier, weighed down by the announcement looming on Monday.

Joel’s trying to act normal, but I can see it, the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he’s been rubbing the back of his neck like it’s carrying the weight of the world. He’s barely spoken to me since last night, and it’s starting to gnaw at me.

As I pour myself a cup of coffee, an idea takes root. Joel needs a break, something to clear his head. And I need… I need him to remember he can lean on me when things get rough.

“What if we went to Moonstone Beach today?” I suggest, keeping my tone casual. “The boys could run around, get some fresh air. It would be good for all of us.”

---