Page 75 of The Single Dad Project

“Moe told me how great you’re doing with that renovation project,” Noah finally said, breaking the pained quiet.

“Yes, it’s coming along,” Flo said, voice even, not betraying the childish impulse to ask her mother why she was discussing her withhimin the first place.

Yes, she had suddenly reverted to a six-year-old.

Noah smiled, and he looked so much like her father it almost hurt to look at him.

“I find it amazing that you’re a photographer. There’s probably no way you remember this, but your mom, she was so creative and talented. She could draw just about anything. I bet you have that same eye.”

A cavernous yearning yawned wide in her chest—a yearning for more information about her mother. A yearning to be close to her even if it was through someone else’s memories.

Yet, anger threaded through that longing. Because she hadn’t known that about her mother. Flo had always wondered if either of her biological parents had possessed an interest in photography or any of the arts, or if it was something she’d discovered on her own. And if Noah had stuck around, hadn’t abandoned her, or hell, had just been more involved in her life past greeting cards, she wouldn’t have wondered. She would’ve had the answers.

But now, here he was, doling them out like she should be happy, grateful.

And that only made her resent him more.

“No, I didn’t know that,” she said, struggling to maintain an even tone for her parents’ sakes.

“Oh yeah,” Noah continued, his smile widening. So completely oblivious. “She used to carry either a notebook or a sketching pad with her everywhere she went. I can’t tell you how many times I’d find her either behind the inn or on our front porch drawing. And you would be sitting right there beside her with your paper and crayons. I’m sure I have some of those drawings around. I can find them for you, if you’d like to see them.”

Yes.

The answer burned her tongue, but she didn’t say it, couldn’t bring herself to ask him. Pride was a terrible thing.

“We made sure she received Aisha’s things,” her father said when Flo didn’t reply. “But if you have more, I know Flo would love them.”

I don’t need you to speak for me. Don’t need you to make him feel better, she silently snapped. But she still remained silent, locking that down, too.

“No problem. I’ll find them for you.” Noah nodded as if it were Flo who had spoken instead of his brother. “If it’s okay, Flo, I can bring them by your studio or apartment. Ian showed me where you live, and—”

“If you guys will excuse me,” she interrupted, stepping forward and out from under her father’s arm. The urge toget awayshoved at her. Her breath echoed in her head, and she heeded the primal need to put space between her and the source of her pain. And right now that included her parents. “I’ll find you later,” she promised to Moe and her father, her gaze skating over Noah.

And though it was rude, and Moe and Ian had raised her better, she walked off.

No, she escaped.

She blindly pushed through the crowd, no specific destination in mind, just heeding the need for distance. Both physically and emotionally.

“Flo.” The low, deep timbre wrapped around her name had her feet halting midstep, and when a large hand encircled her upper arm, she nearly sagged in relief.

She didn’t need to look behind her to identify the person holding her. Even if she didn’t recognize the voice, then her body’s haywire reaction to his touch would’ve informed her of Adam’s presence.

And God, she had every reason to avoid him—he was a heartache on two legs—yet she turned toward him, leaned into him. Her pulse raced and the skin under his hand heated as if he branded her through her thin sweater. She wanted that heat all over her, swamping her...claiming her.

She needed him. And it terrified her.

Yet... Yet, she tipped her head back, met his gaze. And whatever he saw there—the need, the desperation, the hurt—had him sliding his hand down her arm to clasp her fingers in his.

“Dance with me.” He didn’t wait for her answer, but led her toward the area designated in front of the band and makeshift stage.

Couples already crowded the temporary dance floor. Adam maneuvered them to the far corner. Once there, he pulled her close, one big hand cupping her nape and the other settling on the small of her back.

He didn’t question her, didn’t nudge her to talk. And leaning her forehead against his broad, solid shoulder, she was grateful for it. Her mind whirled, and the emotion herding into her chest and up toward her throat didn’t allow her words. Not right now.

In this moment she just wanted,needed, this. To be held. To be understood.

Sliding her arms around him, she flattened her palms on his back and let him lead, following the gentle sway of his big body.

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