Page 31 of Single Dad Dilemma
“Changing their clothes.”
Just like he had the first night I met him, Barrett wore a black quarter-zip that stretched across his heart, the red-and-white logo over his chest.
“There are sleds in the driveway,” he said, crossing his arms.
I nodded seriously. “Personally, I wouldn’t recommend going sledding without them.”
“And where did you manage that? We have a flat backyard, and it was in the rules not to take them anywhere,” he said, his gaze colder than the glacial air outside.
Heat crawled up my neck as I remembered the rest of his note that I just ... ignored. My chin rose a notch. “We stayed in the neighborhood. There’s a good hill behind that church a few blocks over. Their school friends told them about it.”
Barrett hummed. “So their homework is done already?”
I slicked my tongue over my teeth. “It would’ve been before you got home.” I kicked off the slippers, tucking them back into place. And even though I wanted to weep sad, cold tears at the thought of putting my wet, soggy coat back on, I pulled the blanket off my shoulders, kept the visible shivering to a minimum, and laid it in a neat pile on the couch. “I’ll just head back home. Tell the kids I’ll set their backpacks by the door when they’re ready to come get them.”
His hand shot out and grabbed my elbow. Not a hard, mean sort of grab. If it had been, I probably would’ve kneed him in the balls as a reflex. The pressure of his palm was just enough to stop me. The heat of his fingers seared through the thin layer of my long-sleeve shirt.
“I had rules, Lily. That was our agreement.”
“I saw them.” When he gave me a disbelieving look, I bit down on my bottom lip, trying my very best to look contrite. Based on his reaction, it wasn’t working, which was probably for the best because I didn’t actually feel bad. “Most of them, at least.”
His jaw tightened, and goodness, if there was such a thing as an ominous muscle tightening, this was it. Like a siren blaring before a storm, cutting through the air like a scream.
“And you just ... chose to ignore them? I said I didn’t want you taking them anywhere.”
I ignored a lot of shit out of a resolute sense of self-preservation. A therapist would have a field day with someone like me.
What do we do when we’re scared of our big feelings, Lily?they’d ask.
We run away and distract ourselves with new experiences. We pretend like those feelings don’t exist because it’s a million times easier than dealing with them.
There wasn’t a shrink’s couch in the continental United States that could hold all my baggage.
I gave him a hint of a smile, and his eyes never wavered from mine. “Flexibility isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes we’re better off breaking the rules.”
He released his grip on me, and I fought the urge to shake my arm out. It tingled where he’d held it. Good tingles, which I hadn’t gotten from a man in a very long time.
No. Bad tingles. Very, very bad tingles.
“Not the way I live,” he said. “Everything will fall apart.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “My goodness, I didn’t take you for the overly dramatic sort.”
“My life is held together by rules,” he said in a low voice. “Theirs is too. I didn’t ask for your help to have you dismantle it. They need structure. Routine. And so do I.”
“Sounds like my nightmare,” I said lightly.
He let out a quiet huffing sound, almost a laugh but not quite. “My entire day is lived fifteen minutes at a time. I don’t have a single minuteunaccounted for. If a piece falls out of place—one single piece, a domino knocked over when it shouldn’t be—everything comes crashing down.”
Lord, I wanted to muss him up. There was something about this man. It was that serious air, the unshakable focus, that sent an itchy little urge under my skin to see if Icouldshake him. Just a bit.
“Fifteen minutes,” I said quietly, taking a step closer and glancing up at him with a guileless expression. “Can’t really accomplish anything fun in fifteen minutes, can you?”
There was a flicker in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. In fact, it didn’t even seem like he was breathing. His body was so close to mine—he smelled clean and crisp, scents and notes that I couldn’t place. Like anyone actually knew what bergamot and sandalwood and citrus smelled like unless they read it on a bottle somewhere. Anyone who said otherwise was full of shit.
Good. He smelled really fucking good. And that gave me unfortunate little tingles too.
I brushed past him, pausing momentarily to see if he’d react, and when he didn’t, I walked over to my coat and gloves.
