Page 42 of Single Dad Dilemma
“What’s my fault?” the man in question said, appearing at the end of a hallway on the other side of the room. He was looking down as he rolled the sleeves up his forearms. It was basic—a plain white button-down I’d seen on hundreds of men in my life, but I cursed the sudden pitch in my belly at the way it fit him.
Good. It fit him good. Fit himwell?
Whatever. The grammatical construct of that sentence aside, Barrett King was doing his button-down shirt some serious favors. Apparently, he’d also dressed nice for baby Jesus.
“Lily brought cookie cutters,” Maggie pronounced. “We didn’t even need them. Itoldyou she would.”
His eyes lifted slowly, like the air was thick and made everything sluggish, and when they met mine, it seemed as though he was just as apprehensive about this as I was.
“Ah. You’re here.”
“Merry Christmas,” I told him, and I almost winced at the sound of my voice. It was half an octave too high, and my nerves were now a blinking neon sign over my head. “Thank you for inviting me.”
All morning, I’d promised myself that I could be polite to him. That I could be kind and sweet ... okay, well, maybe notsweet, because I hadn’t undergone a personality transplant recently, but we could be in the same room without snipping and snapping at each other.
The pressure of his gaze was so tactile, I almost took a step back, but I forced myself to stay in place. There would be no backing down from this man, thank you very much.
When his gaze made it down to my feet and then back up, I merely raised an eyebrow. “Do I pass dress code, Mr. King?”
Only the slightest flicker in his eyes gave him away, even though his mouth stayed even. A low, scraping hum was his only response. “No scary little beast by your side today?”
I smiled faintly. “No, Larry was content to nap on the couch, as it turned out. I asked him if he wanted to come, but his response was to burrow under some blankets and growl.”
Barrett made a small noise in the back of his throat. “So he doesn’t just growl at me?”
“Oh no. That dog loathes my very presence, make no mistake.” I turned on the faucet, pushing my sleeves up to wash my hands before Maggie and I started. “Thank you for getting cookie cutters, though. You have some shapes that Patty didn’t.”
“Which ones?” Maggie asked.
I leaned toward the selection she’d pulled out. Barrett was still watching me, even as Bryce asked him for help setting up a game. “I don’t have a snowman or a reindeer or a bell. Let’s pick six shapes and make four of each. Sound good?”
Maggie did the little bouncing move on her toes she always did when she was excited, and as we parsed out the shapes we liked best, she did it again. It was little things like that I’d remember when I left, and my heart squeezed for a moment before I could stop it.
When she’d made her final selections, she looked up at me for approval.
“Those will be fun.”
“You might need to decorate the reindeer. I don’t think I’ll be any good at it,” she said.
“We all have to start somewhere—and even if it’s an unholy mess, that’s better than going nowhere at all.”
The words were out before I knew what I was saying, and I could hear my father’s voice as if he were standing next to me. The breath I sucked in was shaky at best, everything spinning topsy-turvy in my brain for a split second. I turned, pretending like I was looking in the bag again.
Maybe I should have stayed home.
Maybe this was too much.
What was Ithinking?
“What do you need next?” Maggie asked, pulling me from the absoluteno thank youof my thoughts.
“A rolling pin and some flour, if you please.”
“Yes, Chef.” She saluted. I exhaled a short laugh under my breath while she set the flour on the counter, then started pulling open drawers and paused. “Dad, do we have a rolling pin?”
Barrett’s eyes locked on mine as he nodded. “Drawer right behind you. Don’t think it’s ever been used, though.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, batting my eyelids.
