Page 20 of The Single Dad Project

She patted his shoulder and walked out of his office. Closing the door on her laughter, she maintained her grin until she stood alone in the hall. Then she searched for a calm that, from past experience, would be elusive for at least the next few days. If not the week.

After a moment, she headed toward the stairs, the envelope searing her hand, a corporal reminder that love could not only be selfish and self-satisfying but also disappointing.

Over and over again.

Good thing she didn’t plan on falling for that trap.

FLOPULLEDUPto the curb outside the Queen Anne Victorian and parked, staring up at the house that sat on top of the small rise like the royalty it was named after. When she’d left the studio this afternoon, she’d intended to head back to the inn for dinner with the family, but as hard as she tried, that damn card had her in her feelings. And none of them were good. Definitely not conducive to putting on a happy face for the way-too-perceptive Dennison clan.

Needing a distraction, she’d ended up here. This house where she would spend a good part of her time for the next few months when not in her photography studio.

As far back as she could remember, the huge white, blue and pastel green home with its turrets and pitched roofs had made her believe a real-life castle existed in Rose Bend’s midst. Now, at twenty-four, she might not see Sleeping Beauty’s home, but that grand wraparound porch with the peeling white columns still evoked dreams of late summer, lazy naps. The former owner had stopped maintaining the landscaping some time ago, but even the overgrown lawn and shrubbery couldn’t detract from the once beautiful red-brick driveway or the steep, graceful walkway. Once restored, this majestic beauty would shine like it was meant to.

And she couldn’t wait to document each and every step with her camera.

Pushing her door open, she exited her Jeep Renegade, gaze centered on the Victorian. In a matter of days, this area would be swarming with a television crew, contractors and repairmen, but right now only the distant cry of children’s laughter and the call of adult voices peppered the air. Trees and big lots separated the nearest house. Which would be a blessing when the television crews arrived and the construction started.

Though the house had passed through several owners in the past few years, everyone in Rose Bend still referred to it as the Hudson House, named after the original homeowners from the late 1800s. Until the mid-1960s, one of their family members had lived there, but then it had been sold to a couple from New York, so the story went. To Flo, the history of the Victorian was as much a part of its beauty as the wide, dark green front door, the large bay windows and the battered but lovely gazebo around back.

She sighed, a sense of peace settling in her spirit, as she approached the porch steps. Her fingers tingled to have her Sony A7 III in her hands. With the sun inching toward the horizon, its rays hit the spires of the turrets like a halo, causing the roof, with some of its missing shingles, to appear like a great, slumbering dragon and its spiked tail. She glanced behind her toward her car, a slight frown creasing her brow. Her studio and apartment were about ten minutes away. By the time she made it there, picked up her camera and returned here, the light would probably be gone—

“Hi. Who are you?”

Flo stiffened at the sound of the sweet, high-pitched voice, surprise winging through her. Turning around, she frowned, only seeing the towering red maple trees that stood guard in front of the white wooden fence.

“I’m Jussy. Who’re you?” the small voice spoke again, and Flo dropped her gaze, meeting a pair of curious dark brown eyes.

“Hi, Jussy.” Smiling, Flo hunkered down on her heels, getting closer to the little girl’s level. Petite, slender and adorable with almond skin, pretty eyes and puffy pigtails, she couldn’t have been much more than six years old. Glancing around and spying just her, Flo returned her attention to the girl. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Florence Dennison. But everyone calls me Flo.”

“Hi, Flo.” Jussy waved the hand not clutched around a pink-and-yellow teddy bear that had seen better days. “Do you live here?”

“No, I don’t. I’m just visiting.” She shook her head then surveyed the quiet, deserted area again. “Jussy, are you here alone? Where are your parents?”

“My mommy’s gone,” she said simply, and Flo blinked.

Gone? As in died?God.The urge to gather the little girl close and hug her swelled inside Flo. She had been several years younger than this little girl when she’d lost her own mother. Though she’d been blessed to be raised by a wonderful, beautiful woman, there would always be a part of her that missed the mother she remembered only through faint impressions and pictures.

“My daddy’s over there.” Jussy twisted her upper body around, pointing toward the Victorian. “He’s planning.”

Planning?O-kay. Flo had zero idea what that meant.

“Planning, huh?” Palming her knees, Flo rose and stretched out a hand toward Jussy. “That sounds super important—”not“—but let’s go find him so you’re not here by yourself, okay?”

Slowly, Jussy shook her head and crossed her thin arms over her chest, strangling her teddy bear.

“I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers, Flo,” Jussy informed her.

Flo swallowed a snort.I’m sure you’re not supposed to talk to them either, but that ship has sailed.

“True, and that’s really smart of you,” Flo praised, reaching out and tugging on the stuffed animal’s ear. “If you don’t mind, though, I’ll wait here with you until your dad is finished, um, planning, so you’re not out here by yourself. I know you’re a big girl, but is that okay with you?”

Jussy grinned, lowering her arms and enclosing her small, delicate fingers around Flo’s.

“Okay, Flo. I am a big girl, too. I’m five. Do you have candy?” she asked, swinging their clasped hands back and forth.

She couldn’t go anywhere with strangers, but didn’t seem to have a problem taking candy from them. Flo fought back a chuckle only because she didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, even unintentionally.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t have any.”

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