Page 13 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

"Oh, I've got to go. Have fun, Mira. Relax, okay?" The call had ended before I could respond. I continued to sit in the window seat, looking out at the falling snow, thinking I'd stay there until I could actually leave. Sure, I was hungry, but I could fast until tomorrow when I was able to get out of this place.

I had no clue how long I'd been sitting there when I heard a movement in the hallway. I turned and saw Brett leaning against the bedroom’s door frame, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"I'm going to make some dinner. Shall I make enough for two?"

My instinct was to say no and stick with my plan to hide out here. But my stomach growled. It had other ideas.

Brett arched a brow. “I'll take that as a yes."

God, he heard my stomach from across the room? That was embarrassing.

"It's spaghetti. One of Lindsay's favorites."

I gave a wan smile as I noted that Lindsay was right. He came off surly and yet there was a sweetness about him. He had planned to make one of Lindsay's favorite dinners.

"I like spaghetti. In fact, I think I've had your spaghetti. Lindsay brought some home after a visit with you and shared it. You're quite the chef."

The tension in him lessened a little bit. "It will be ready in twenty minutes."

I nodded. "Thank you."

He stayed where he was, staring at me, and I wondered what he was seeing or what he was thinking about what he was seeing. It was clear that he regretted what happened last night, just like I did. The night before, he'd seen me as a sexual woman. Tonight, he was likely looking at me as his daughter's friend. Not a child, but still off-limits.

He finally left the doorway, and I turned my attention back out the window. I'd been rude and obnoxious to him, and he was right that I hadn't been owning up to my part in what happened. If I was completely honest with myself, if Brett wasn’t Lindsay’s father and I ended up stranded here with him, I'd be hoping to have a repeat of last night.

5

Brett

Iwas a fucking pervert. It was one thing to be attracted to a woman I didn't know, but it was entirely different to want a woman after learning she was my daughter's friend.

I watched Miranda sitting in the loveseat of the window, the snow falling outside and her silhouetted like she was an ethereal being, and my dick twitched. Fortunately, the fact that she was Lindsay's friend would be a deterrent from trying to seduce her again. Even so, the desire to touch her again was irritating. It wasn’t often that I wanted a woman a second time, so the fact that I’d have Miranda in my bed right now if not for the fact that she was Lindsay’s friend was odd. But since that wasn’t an option, and my dick didn’t seem to get the message, avoiding her would have been the best option. But I promised Lindsay I’d look after her friend. It would be rude to make dinner and not offer some to Miranda.

Down in the kitchen, I busied myself making tomato sauce and sautéing Italian sausage with vegetables as I waited for the pot of water to boil for the pasta. I was no gourmet chef, but I found cooking relaxing, and so I settled in, preparing the meal, letting it calm my nerves.

Fifteen minutes later, Miranda appeared in the kitchen. "Is there something I can help with?"

Seeing her again jolted me out of my relaxation. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans that hugged her curves and a red sweater over a white T-shirt that molded around her perfect tits. Her dark, wavy hair was piled up on top of her head in a messy bun.

She's Lindsay's friend. She's Lindsay's friend.I chanted in my head like a mantra to keep myself from putting her on the table and fucking her right then and there.

"You can set the table. Plates and silverware are in the cupboard over there." I nodded to the area of the kitchen that held our eating utensils.

She walked over to the area, and I had to stifle a groan as she turned her back to me, showing off that stellar heart shaped ass of hers. I was going to hell for sure.

I had her bring the large pasta bowls to me, and I served us both spaghetti and sauce. I handed a bowl to her and brought mine to the table. I grabbed a bottle of red wine, two wine glasses, and a corkscrew and brought them to the table. For a moment, I had to consider that serving alcohol might be unwise, but it was red wine, and she was just as disturbed by the fact that we were both connected to Lindsay, so I figured we were safe.

"I didn’t make a salad or anything. But the sauce has zucchinis, peppers, and other vegetables. When Lindsay was little, she wouldn't eat them, so I always had to hide them in sauces."

She gave me a sweet smile. "She still doesn't eat vegetables."

I popped the cork and poured us both wine, and then I sat at the table. She put her fork in her spaghetti, twisting it and then taking a large bite, grabbing her napkin to keep from splattering everywhere.

"Do you cook?" I asked as I sipped the wine. I wondered if she’d recognize it as the wine she'd had the other night.

She swallowed her bite. "I do a little bit. When my mom died, I ended up doing most of the cooking. My dad took her death pretty hard."

Something shifted deep in my gut. Last night, I had seen her as a sexual being, and then this afternoon as my daughter's friend. Learning that her mother had died and that she had taken over the motherly duties began to turn her into a person. Not that she wasn't a person before, but I'd compartmentalized her. Now those compartments were beginning to emerge.

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