Page 65 of Single Dad Dilemma
She smiled, exhaling loudly. “Good.” Then she looked around the room. “Does anyone else want one?”
Bryce and her grandpa had one in their hands before the words were even out of Maggie’s mouth, and I laughed into my second bite, finishing the cookie with another small sound of appreciation.
I squeezed her shoulder while she watched the other two inhale their first cookies, then go for another one.
“Good job, kiddo,” I told her.
“This is the best feelingever.”
I smiled, but it was only a moment later that my attention shifted tohim.
Across the room, Barrett slid his laptop bag off his shoulder and set it on a chair, and damn it, I couldn’t help it—I just watched. Had I watched for his truck to leave before coming over for cookie baking? Maybe.
Did that stop me from wondering what the fuck this man was thinking with his weird, strangely destructive displays of thoughtfulness? Nope.
I didn’t know what to make of him, not after what had happened that morning. And now the thought of teasing him didn’t hold nearly the same appeal that it had on Christmas Eve. A shift, invisible though it was, still registered in the back of my head.
Robin went for her first cookie, moaning when she took a bite. “You two are dangerous in the kitchen.”
“Everyone tells me I’m dangerous everywhere,” Maggie muttered.
I laughed, and so did Barrett’s parents. Barrett’s expression was hidden, only his profile visible. But there was a slight softening in his cheeks, a hint of a smile, and I found myself unable to look away.
But his head moved, so I did as well.
“February, huh?” Robin asked.
Barrett was watching me—I could feel it—but I kept my eyes on his mother, nodding in answer. “They’ll be home middle of the month.”
“Must be hard to move around so much,” she said.
The kids chattered with their grandpa, and Barrett joined them, but Robin spoke loudly enough that I could tell he was listening.
“Sometimes,” I admitted quietly, picking up a dishcloth to wipe down the counter. “But it’s all I know.”
She was quiet, coming around the counter to help clean up.
Wouldn’t it be easier if she annoyed the shit out of me? If she was intrusive and rude and pushy, and I could run out of the room, desperate for a quiet house and my own space?
Alas, she was none of those things.
Barrett’s parents, much to my absolute dismay, were completely delightful. Friendly without being overbearing. Chatty without dominating conversation. A bit curious, yes, but I never felt like I was being interrogated.
“I suppose it must be fun to see the country this way.” She smiled, all nice and warm and sweet and motherly. What the fuck was I supposed todowith that? “And you’ve probably done a lot of different jobs, haven’t you?”
“I have,” I answered, trying to keep the wary tone under control but failing miserably.
“Usually house-sitting?”
“About half and half. I’ve been a barista, a dog walker, a temp, a digital marketer ... I tried my hand at being a travel influencer, worked at a small tourist farm for a while and some clothing boutiques—though I am not nearly nice enough for retail ...”
She chuckled. “A temp? I can’t picture you stuck at a desk, honey.”
“It was actual hell.” I smiled. “I hated every single second.”
“And you’ve seen the country while doing it,” she said kindly.
“I have.”
