Page 113 of The Single Dad Project

She expected him to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, Patrick cocked his head and his bright gaze roamed over her face. As if searching out the truth behind her words. As if he didn’t believe her.

“You deserve the dream and a romantic movie ending,” he softly said.

That twinge in her chest pulled taut, vibrating through her. When a person looked at Patrick, they would see the proud, nearly stark bone structure, the sharp gaze and lush mouth. They’d also take in the tall, wide-shouldered big build and might be intimidated or believe him to be aloof, reserved. And that wasn’t altogether false. He could come across as standoffish. But most people didn’t realize that Patrick was almost shy around those he didn’t know well. Only when he was comfortable did he lower his guard and allow a person to see the funny, sensitive and unerringly kind man he was.

Pride swelled inside her that he counted her among those precious few he called friends.

Friends? Friends don’t notice each other’s thighs and ass.

They did if they got married and ended up naked in the bed together.

She silently sighed. This same back and forth had been warring in her head since her return from Vegas.

“And you’re sweet,” she murmured, replying to Patrick. Averting her gaze—afraid if she met his eyes, he would glimpse the confusion and the darker, twistier emotion she refused to name—she tugged her hat farther down over her curls. “Now, come treat me to some hot chocolate.”

They crossed the field, winding their way through the festive assortment of booths offering everything from steaming hot beverages and food to Christmas ornaments and ugly sweaters. Made sense the latter booth had a line gathered in front of it given the holiday ugly sweater competition was slated for next week.

Minutes later a large hot chocolate cupped in her hands with the warmth seeping through her gloves, Brooklyn forged a path toward the funnel cake fryer located under the huge tent on the far right side of The Glen. As they moved through the line to all that golden, fried, powdered-sugar goodness, she chatted with friends and townspeople she’d known one way or another her entire life.

And right at her elbow stood the quiet pillar of strength she’d come to depend on not just as an employee, but as her friend.

Don’t forget husband.

How could she? And boy, had she tried.

She slid a sidelong glance at him as Tricia Martin shook powdered sugar over her funnel cake. He’d been her employee for four years, and her friend for almost as long. And other than objective appreciation for his loveliness, Patrick had only been just that—her employee and friend. And oh yes, her sister’s ex. Couldn’t forget that fact.

But since she’d woken up in that hotel room with him, she couldn’t look at the marble-like line of his jaw and not wonder if she’d trailed her lips along it. Couldn’t peek at the breadth of his chest and not speculate if she’d nuzzled it, rested her ear against his heartbeat.

Couldn’t glance at that mouth and hope she’d devoured it...and pray it had returned the favor.

No, since that morning, he’d become so much more.

Her every desire.

And goddamn, it wasso wrong.

“Brooklyn, Patrick.”

She stiffened, a charge of unease and shock tripping down her spine.

Damn. It.

Turning around with a piece of funnel cake lifted to her mouth, she forced her lips into a smile she prayed didn’t appear as strained as it felt.

“Hey, Kayla,” she greeted her sister. Then, spotting her parents behind her. “Mom, Dad.”

And with those words—and her family standing in front of her—the calamitous dinner popped back into her head. Well, not that it’d been very far from her memories. But the lighting, the hot chocolate, funnel cake and Patrick had aided in sublimating it.

And with the reemergence of just howcringethe earlier part of this night had been, she shifted away from Patrick, inserting the smallest amount of space between them. But when she glanced at him, and her gaze collided with that turquoise hooded stare, it felt like an ocean could fit into that space.

But what could she do? There wasn’t a handbook on how to react when your baby sister showed up for dinner, surprising you and the man she almost married. The man who youdidmarry. Didn’t help that all through the awkward meal and small talk afterward, she could’ve swornMarried in Vegasblinked on her forehead like a neon vacancy sign on a cheap hotel.

Guilt and fear comingled in the nastiest of cocktails, guaranteed to leave her with a worse hangover than the one that had gotten her in this predicament in the first place.

“How’d you enjoy the tree lighting?” Brooklyn asked Kayla and her parents, desperately searching for something,anything, to say. Okay, to deflect.

“It’s the same as ever,” Kayla said, her shrug as dismissive as her tone. “I mean, once you’ve seen the one on Boston Common, this one kind of pales in comparison. They bring that tree in all the way from Nova Scotia, not just some Christmas tree farm.”

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