Page 83 of The Single Dad Project

“Pancakes!” Just as Justine darted down the hall in her pajamas and skidded into the kitchen, Flo stepped back, inserting space between them. “Flo!” Justine yelled and then launched herself at, apparently, her favorite person in the room. “Pancakes and Flo!”

Adam chuckled, turning back to the pan and moving the perfectly round—if he said so himself—pancakes onto the platter with the growing stack.

“Do I get one of those hugs?” he teased his daughter. “I am the one cooking breakfast.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Justine released Flo and skipped to him. Adam stepped forward so she wasn’t near the hot stove, and he scooped her up in his arms, hugging her until she squealed with laughter.

Then he smacked a kiss on her cheek and set her back down on her feet.

“Ready to eat?”

Justine yelled—as usual—her agreement, and Flo helped her sit in a chair at the small dining table while he carried platters of pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs.

“This looks delicious,” Flo said, smiling at him as she served up food on Justine’s plate. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled his chair out, but just as he sat down, the doorbell rang.

He glanced toward the living room and in the direction of the front door with a frown. Two visitors in the matter of twelve hours. Flo had been a pleasant and welcome surprise. But who else would drop by unannounced? And early on a Sunday morning, too?

“Be right back,” he said, sliding his chair back under the table and heading for the door.

Behind him, Justine and Flo kept up a running conversation, and he couldn’t help but smile at his daughter’s lighter chatter and Flo’s lower, huskier tone. Justine was a cheerful child, but hearing her laughter... There wasn’t a more beautiful sound for a father to hear.

And Flo’s sultrier chuckle? There wasn’t a more beautiful sound for a man to hear.

Maybe because his attention was back at the dining table with Flo and Justine, he didn’t check the peephole. Maybe because the two people who should be in his house were there, and he wasn’t much concerned about who stood on the porch, he didn’t bother carrying out his usual precautionary peek.

Either way, he’d never forget again.

Not when he pulled open the door and the very last person he expected to see stood on his doorstep wearing a carefree grin.

“Hi, Adam. Surprise,” his ex-wife greeted.

Fuck.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FLORAISEDHERCAMERA, focused the lens and captured the beauty of the morning sun streaming through the large bay windows of the cavernous rustic kitchen. It hit the brick-and-stone wall with its arch over a brand-new stainless steel stove; the forest green cabinetry with their glass fronts; the gleaming wood countertops and the brown tile flooring. A matching island sat in the middle of the floor.

It was a gorgeous room, she thought, snapping picture after picture—from the recessed ceiling with its hanging domed light fixtures to the farmhouse sink and shale countertops. It was hard to believe that just two weeks earlier, this space had been completely gutted with wiring hanging from the ceiling and walls. The before and after images were going to be stunning side by side.

She lowered her camera, scrolling through the digital pictures she’d taken in the last half hour. Without any effort, she could easily imagine what the room would look like with a small table and chairs tucked in the breakfast nook, copper pans and pots hanging on iron hooks... She’d adored this house for years, but now she was downright in love with it.

“This might be my favorite room.”

She stiffened, her pulse echoing in her ears. But she didn’t turn around. “Mine, too,” she said, proud that her voice was level, even pleasant.

Some would sayunbothered. But God, she was sobothered.

Adam’s footsteps fell against the tile floor, and she still didn’t turn around, though the urge rode her hard. Adam walking, moving, was all sensual grace. A symphony, melody in motion. She held firm, but when he stopped behind her, his body heat damn near scalded her.

Okay, so that was her imagination, but she had an active one. And it provided her with every detail of his stunning face with its bold angles, carnal curves and golden eyes. Of his wide shoulders, broad chest and powerful, thick thighs.

God, even her hurt and confusion couldn’t compete against the desire he never ceased to stir. She was as predictable as the sun rising in the east. If Adam was within five feet of her, her body heated like a furnace.

Dammit.

“Flo,” Adam said, that whiskey-and-midnight voice a caress over her skin. “You didn’t come by the house this morning.”

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