Page 7 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

“I know, but you don’t date. I don’t want you to become some bitter, angry man who refuses to love again.”

He weighed the two emotions inside himself. “I don’t feel bitter.” He wanted his kids to have a good relationship with their mom, so he had to be careful what he said. “I’m angry about what she did to me and Lorelei.” His ex had lied to their oldest about him. She’d made it sound like Beau was so preoccupied with his dreams that he didn’t support his daughter’s, when the whole time he’d been the one paying for singing lessons, an in-home studio, their move to Nashville, and even her first tour.

Fortunately, the truth was out now, so he’d had the summer to reconcile with her. “And it’s not that I refuse to love again.” He toyed with the pepper shaker, wondering how much he should tell her. He supposed at twenty-three, she was mature enough to hear the truth. “I’m just not sure I’m wired for it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I love my children with every fiber of my being, but I’ve never felt romantic love.”

“You didn’t love Mom?”

The kids knew they’d married because she’d gotten pregnant. “Not the way I should have. And I know that because I saw what happened to you when your relationship blew up. I’ve never loved anyone enough to be destroyed like that.”

“Oh. That’s sad.”

“Well, since I don’t know what I’m missing, it’s probably okay.” What Jessa had gone through was bad, but his oldest had suffered a horrible betrayal. He didn’t need to experience anything like that.

“But, Dad, you’ll never know passion. And sure, my ex hurt me badly, but I wouldn’t have known that kind of pain if I hadn’t felt the highs that come from wild love.” She leaned across the table. “Don’t you get lonely?”

He hated that she was so worried about him. “Not really. I like my work, I’m close to my kids…I’m good with my own company.” He and Jessa talked every day. Walker and his son lived with him, so he had companionship.

He’d even gotten Lorelei back. As soon as she’d found out about her mother’s lies, she’d signed on for a summer residency at the Owl Hoot Music Festival so she could begin repairing her relationship with him. They’d had two great months before her world had fallen apart. Not long ago, though, she’d gone to a remote cabin to regroup. He’d barely heard from her since.

“All right.” Jessa swatted the air. “I’ll stop getting into your business. You know how emotional I get when I’m stressed. After I turn in my thesis, I’ll be a whole different person.”

“I like this person.” He set down the pepper and reached for her hand.

“This person’s very different from you. I want love. I want passion. I’m not a lone wolf.”

“And you’ll find it. Probably when you least expect it.”

Just as “We Are The Champions” ended, the server—Margot—returned with four plates. “All right. Here you go.” She must’ve caught his daughter’s disappointment because she quickly added, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll have the next batch out in just a minute.”

For some reason, she’d put her hair in a ponytail, and he had the strangest urge to pull the elastic and release it. He wanted to see that bounty of silky, shiny hair fall free around her shoulders. In the mornings when she worked, she sifted her fingers through it. When she reached the ends, she gave it a twist. It was a cute, unconscious habit.

She headed back to the kitchen, and he watched the sway of her hips, noting the way the fabric of her jeans cupped each round ass cheek as she extended a leg to walk.

Had he ever noticed the way clothing fit a woman before? No. He was sure he hadn’t. Another server came out of the kitchen, handing some plates over. And then, Margot was on her way back to the table.

As she approached, his heart knocked against his ribs.

What is happening to me?

He pressed his hand to his chest, as if he had some external control of his body’s response. She set down four more desserts, and when her arm brushed his, the strangest thing happened.

Goose bumps popped up on his forearm. He was so confused by his body’s reaction that when the emcee called his name, he jolted, jerking around to face the stage.

“Beau and Jessa Gentry?” The musician used a hand to shield his eyes from the bright spotlight as he searched the room.

Beau whipped back to find his daughter grinning. “Dammit, Jessa. You know I hate karaoke.”

“Please, Dad?” She reached for his hands. “Can this be my Christmas present?”

“Absolutely not. You know I already have one for you.”

“Okay, then, my stocking stuffer. Dad, please, please, please? Come on. I’ll be all alone on Christmas morning. I don’t get to wake up to hot cocoa and bagels and cream cheese and a tree full of gifts.”

She knew just how to punch his heart. “I don’t sing.” He had a terrible voice. Everyone knew that.

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