Page 18 of The Single Dad Project

Cole narrowed his eyes on her. “I’m reconsidering that favorite little sister part all of a sudden. And you really shouldn’t be antagonizing the person who comes bearing gifts.”

“Gifts?” Flo straightened in her chair, leaning forward. Curiosity sparked inside her, as did anticipation. “You should’ve led with that. What is it? What’s the occasion?”

“You’re so predictable, you know that?” Cole gave a huff of laughter. “Hold on a second. Let me explain.”

Sliding one last helping of food between his lips, he set the container aside and focused all his attention on her. Looking every inch the mayor and attorney he was, he set his clasped hands on the desktop, shifting forward, his dark curls brushing his high cheekbones. Even after all these years, the sight of those curls set off a tight pinch in her sternum. Right after his first wife’s death, Cole had cut off his hair, a show of mourning. Only after he’d married Sydney had he finally let his curls grow back. Everyone had welcomed them, had seen them as a sign of his healing.

She still did.

“HavingVintage Renovationhere is a great prospect for Rose Bend. So with the new home buyers’ permission, the town council brainstormed ways to capitalize on the filming, and we came up with something.” He paused for effect, and when she rolled her eyes at his dramatics, twirling a hand for him to get on with it, Cole grinned. “A coffee-table book documenting the restoration project and the television show. We would sell it in the gift shop and pharmacy, and it would be the perfect tourist gift. Also, the production company has opted to purchase photos for their site and social media, as well. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the perfect photographer.”

Flo’s heart pounded in her chest, echoed in her eardrums. Swallowing, she could only stare at her brother, unable to gather enough moisture to wet her suddenly dry mouth. Working on the set of one of her favorite TV shows aside, sheneededthis. And not just for her limited résumé. But forher. Her self-confidence. Her self-esteem.

It’d been a week since she’d returned home from Thailand...a week since she’d spent that sizzling hot night with Adam to distract her from the bust that trip had been. But in the days that followed, the anger had fled, and the doubts and insecurities had crowded in, chipping away at her piece by piece. She recognized that it was negative, destructive thinking, tried to combat it with working, with doing the very thing that imbued her with joy and purpose.

But as grateful as she was for the studio, taking birthday and holiday pictures didn’t encapsulate her dream.

Immortalizing the energy of the teeming, boat-filled Chao Phraya River in Bangkok did.

Capturing the passion, outrage and grief of a protest over police brutality on an urban city street.

Celebrating the love of a couple celebrating fifty years of marriage as they visited the Grand Canyon for the first time.

That was why she’d chosen photography.

To praise the intricacies of humans and their emotions. To stir conversations about the conditions of people’s hearts. To reveal with her camera lens what could remain hidden to the naked eye.

That wasn’tVintage Renovation.

But it was a stepping stone toward exposure so she could have more projects like that.

“Are you saying I’m that perfect photographer?” she whispered, addressing his comment.

He cocked his head, studied her, the humor ebbing from his gaze to be replaced by something sharper and yet softer.

“Areyou that perfect photographer, Flo?” he asked.

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I’m her.”

Cole smiled, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a flash of pride glittered in his eyes.

“Good.” He nodded. “Glad to know we’re in agreement on that. Especially since I already proposed your name to the town council, and we voted on you taking the job. It would’ve been pretty embarrassing to have to go back and tell them you turned me down. Which—” he arched an eyebrow as he grabbed his take-out container and reopened the lid “—let’s be clear, I wasn’t doing. If I had to drag Moe into this, you were going to be on this project.”

Flo groaned, but her grin probably ruined the effect. Billie Dennison—or Moe, as they all called her, including everyone in town—had a huge heart, but as she often told Flo and the rest of her children, “I may have only brought half of you in this world, but I’ll take you all out.” Now, Moe loved all of them too much to do them bodily harm, but still...Flo didn’t try her.

Needless to say, Moe Dennison proved to be a suitable threat.

“Really?” Flo squinted at her brother. “You’re a little too tall and old to be tattling to your mama.”

He snorted. “Says who? Not if it works. Now, is it working?”

“You could’ve saved that one in your back pocket. I would’ve taken the job without it.” She pushed up out of her seat and rounded the desk, smacking a loud kiss on her brother’s cheek. “Thank you, Cole. Thank you for believing in me.”

“Of course, Flo,” he murmured. “I have so much confidence in you and your talent. What you can do with a camera...” He shook his head. “Yes, I’m excited about the TV show and the restoration. But I’m so damn excited about how you’re going to shine. Because, little sister, you’re going to rival the sun.”

Love so bright, so hot, burst in her chest, she fought not to press the heel of her hand right over her heart. God, she loved her brother. Where one man had tried to strip her of her self-esteem, her strength, her voice, another man,thisman, built her up, encouraged her, sought to empower her.

“You’re my favorite big brother, Cole Dennison.” She blinked against the sudden and unwanted burn of tears. Glancing away, she cleared her throat, taking a moment. When she looked back at him, she grinned. “Don’t tell Wolf or Sonny, though. That stays between you and me.”

---