Page 103 of Single Dad Dilemma
“But you know I’m leaving. And this can’t be anything, and ... and I get the feeling that’s not enough for you.”
Barrett’s eyelids dropped in a slow blink, and he took a step back, seeming to gather himself as the promise of kitchen sex disappeared in a poof with two poorly timed sentences from me.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at me. “I didn’t bring you here for this,” he said, shoulders deflating on a sigh. “And I shouldn’t have ... I shouldn’t have antagonized you that way. Forgive me.”
There was no rebuttal to what I’d said. No denial that it was true or not. But given that his hands weren’t up my shirt and his tongue wasn’t in my mouth, I had a feeling itwastrue. That I’d pegged him exactly right. As slightly old-fashioned. That he wanted to respect me in the way he knew how. Only start something he could stick with. That he could commit to in a meaningful way.
That he wanted me.
I was right about that too.
Somehow that made it even worse. Everything I’d said to his brother came rushing back, because this was the kind of thing that made me want to yell and maybe shove him a little bit. Not a mean shove. The kind of shove you do when you actually hope a man will forget he doesn’t have casual sex, and that shove is the last straw before he kisses the hell out you.
“Forgiven,” I said softly.
Barrett nodded. “There are blankets on the couch, and I’ve got the fire on. Go warm up.”
I wrapped my arms around my middle. “What are you going to do?”
Again, the firm line of his mouth softened, that damn almost-smile that would probably haunt me in my dreams. “Go rescue the groceries.”
“I can go get them,” I told him.
“Are you cold?”
I blinked. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
Inconvenient things were happening in the pit of my belly. Not butterflies, per se. More like pleasant little bursts of heat. Warm and comforting in the midst of a very cold, very shitty week. I wanted to hold them in my hand and let them melt against the skin of my chest.
“Can you, um, can you grab the small blue bag on the bathroom counter while you’re over there?Someonedidn’t really give me time to pack, and I’d like to have my toothbrush.”
His cheekbones washed with pink, and the sight of his embarrassment was more than I could handle. It was so fucking endearing, I wanted to cry.
“Anything else?” he asked in a rough voice.
“Maybe, um, the laundry basket on the kitchen island. It’s clean, I just never got the chance to put it away. You could use it to carry the other stuff too.”
Before I could say anything, he was out the door again, leaving me with no clarity, more confusion, and a raging crush that seemed doomed from the start.
Barrett was gone for less than ten minutes, but I swear I’d started to doze underneath the weight of the blankets on the couch. My feet were shoved into his slippers, because if the man was going to leave those puppies lying around, then I could not be blamed when I used them for myself. I buried my nose into the blankets and inhaled. They smelled like him. Had he used them before the power went out?
A gust of cold air preceded him into the house, and my eyes flew open when he slammed the door shut. Based on the sounds coming from down the hall, I could track his movements. The laundry basket getting set on the floor. The thunk of his boots on the tray next to the door. The shift of the material of his coat as he hung it up on the wall, and then a small noise as he picked up the laundry basket after he’d set it down.
I hadn’t been sure he’d be able to fit it all, but as he came into the kitchen, I smothered my embarrassed smile at how many bags of groceries were clutched in his hands, on top of everything in the basket. Barrett set everything down on the counter and then stood back, hands on his hips.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
His eyes flicked over to mine. “What happened at the grocery store?”
I scoffed, flinging the blankets off my lap. “Listen, everyone knows when there’s a big storm coming, you get water and canned food and bread and peanut butter.”
As I started unpacking the grocery bags, Barrett’s eyes were unwavering, and I justknewhe was counting the loaves of bread as I yanked them out. Then the jars of peanut butter.
“So you got ... five loaves of bread. And six jars of peanut butter,” he said slowly. “Eight cans of peas and carrots. And ...” His eyebrows rose on his forehead. “Four massive jars of applesauce.”
