Page 52 of Single Dad Dilemma
“Watching until you get inside,” I explained. My cheeks were hot, and I felt a little—a lot—stupid. But the urge was there, and ignoring it would only make things worse.
She blinked. “I live next door.”
“And it’s slippery out,” I barked. “What if you fall and hit your head?”
“Oh my.” She sighed. “You really are a pessimist, aren’t you?”
We walked side by side down the driveway, and when we cleared the edge of my garage, I stopped. “Hard habit to break,” I admitted gruffly. “You telling me you don’t watch my kids when they come home in the evenings?”
“Of course I do,” she said, completely affronted. “But that’s different.”
I held her gaze, and my tongue. The quickest way under her skin, I’d learned, was my silence. If she expected a big reaction, she wouldn’t get one, and when she screwed up her lips, impatiently waiting for me to attempt the last word, a flicker of satisfaction burned bright under my chest.
Maybe Iwasplaying a game of sorts; it just wasn’t a game I was used to.
I expected Lily to scoff and march off, but she stood there instead, her breath visible in puffy little clouds from the frigid air. For a moment, she glanced at Scott and Patty’s home, then looked back at me. There was no wall anymore. Her eyes were big in her face, and she blinked a few times like ... like she was nervous.
“It’s a car,” she said quickly.
I tilted my head. “What is?”
She licked her lips, the movement quick and jerky, nothing like when she’d done it earlier. With one hand, she pushed the sleeve of her sweatshirt up and gently tapped the small tattoo just beneath her elbow. “It’s a car,” she repeated quietly. “My ... my dad loved working on old cars. When I was little, I’d always find him tinkering on one. The smell of a garage still reminds me of him.”
Somehow I was able to tear my stunned gaze away from her unexpectedly vulnerable expression to glance down at her arm. The silhouette was a simple line, graceful and small, and unless you studied it closely, you might not notice what it was.
“That’s one,” I said quietly, unthinkingly. How many more did she have?
She let out a small laugh. “I guess.”
“Why’d you tell me?”
Lily shrugged one shoulder, tugging her sleeve back down until the ink disappeared. What other stories did she hold on her skin? The curiosity might drive me mad before she left, but this explanation felt like a strange gift.
The sky above us was ink black, a thick cloud cover blocking out the moon and the stars. Instead of answering, she stared up at it for a long moment.
Then she looked at me, her face open and direct as she smiled. A real smile. Genuine but small, and I felt it in my lungs. In my stomach too. “Merry Christmas, Barrett.”
“Merry Christmas.” I hardly spoke above a whisper, but she heard me, nodding at my response before crunching through the snow between our houses. Lily let herself in the front door without looking back in my direction. When the lights went on inside the house, I let out a slow breath.
It had been so long since I’d felt the aching, unnamed thing swirling around my chest, I could hardly recognize it long enough to give it a name.
Scarier than attraction. Bigger than lust. It wasn’t about wanting her. If I was being honest with myself, I’d wanted her the moment I saw her wrapped in my favorite blanket, wearing my slippers.
What was larger than want? What eclipsed simple desire?
Nothing I had time for, that was for damn sure.
I ran a hand over my mouth and stared at the house for another moment, refusing to label anything. Unearthing new impressions of someone took a certain level of humility. You had to set aside what you knew of them before.
When I went back inside my house, I locked the door behind me and shook my head, thinking of all the different things I’d thought of her from that first exchange.
Rude.
Cold.
Prickly.
Impertinent.
