Page 37 of The Single Dad Project

“I get I’m virtually a stranger,” Flo murmured, filling in his silence with a rush of words. “And like I said, tell me to get out of your private business. It’s just that...” She trailed off and though he could only see her profile, he didn’t miss the slight flex of muscle along her jaw, as if she were physically imprisoning words that warred to get out. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against his forefinger, attempting to erase the urge to brush that delicate jaw. Ease whatever caused that telltale sign. “It’s just that I know what it is to not have your mom there for the everyday things, to wonder why and not really understand the answers.”

His attention sharpened to a laser focus on her, on the note of...wistfulness and pain in her words. Now he was the one wanting to pose questions, to press for information.

“Justine’s mother and I divorced, with me having primary physical custody. Jennifer, her mother, moved so Jussy doesn’t get to see her as often as she’d like,” he explained, offering Flo the more sanitized version of the truth.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That can’t have been easy for her. Or you,” she said, some of the stiffness evaporating from her slim frame.

He shrugged, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his pants. “Divorce happens.” If anyone knew that, he did. Jerking his chin in Justine’s direction, he continued, “She misses her mom. Sometimes she can get...attached quickly.”

“Are you warning me, Adam?” she murmured, sliding him a glance. “Again?”

A pause, sticky with memories, descended between them, ensnaring them. Memories of another time when he’d cautioned her, but then it’d been about him. And look how that had turned out.

“She’s a great little girl, with the kind of personality that would make friends out of any stranger she meets. But I hear you.” Flo nodded. “Speaking of getting attached, how is she doing with Angela? They’re doing okay together?”

Mimicking her pose, Adam crossed his arms and, in his head, imagined how they appeared. Two people standing side by side but in defensive postures, like two retired boxers unwilling to lay down their grudges after numerous bouts in the ring. That was them. A short but hot, tangled history and neither one willing to wave the white flag and call a cease-fire.

“Aside from the seeming obsession with kissing?” he asked wryly. “They get along fine. I am a little concerned about the amount of time she might be spending on the phone, though. And what Jussy’s overhearing.”

“I know Angela. She’s a couple of years younger than me and is the oldest of five.” She nodded when his eyebrows rose high. “I have that in common with her, too. I’m one of seven. But needless to say, she has a ton of experience with younger children. Not to mention she’s made a career out of babysitting since she was about fourteen. She’s also been with her boyfriend, Aaron Karr, since high school. They just got engaged about a month ago, so that might explain the extra, uh, PDA. Just talk to her about cutting back on the phone time,” Flo suggested. “Angela’s cool. She won’t be hurt or offended.”

Honestly, Angela was a nice young woman, but her hurt feelings hadn’t even occurred to him when it came to the quality of his daughter’s care.

“Will do.”

Applause broke out around them, and Adam looked toward the jukebox. Justine ran full speed toward him, arms widespread as if playing an old-fashioned game of airplane. He moved forward, meeting her halfway and scooping her up and holding her close.

“Daddy, did you see me dance?” She grinned, and he couldn’t help but smile back. His little girl’s joy was infectious. “Me and Ms. Grace danced, and I can come back and do it again. She said so!”

Grace winced as she approached them, a hand pressed to her hip. “Whew. In my mind, I’m twenty-five, but my hips are shouting you’re—well, not twenty-five,” the older woman muttered on a chuckle. “If it’s okay with you, Adam, I have a slice of million-dollar pie up there with Justine’s name on it. I promise to give her milk so it’s healthier.”

Justine sucked in a breath and held it, giving him eyes that would’ve had a puppy signing up to take a master class in begging. His firm ground over the milkshake gave way to pie thanks to a pleading look from his daughter and slick maneuvering from a diner owner.

He knew when he was beat.

“One slice. With milk.” As if it mattered.

“Of course,” Grace said, and as he set Justine down, the older woman grasped her hand and led his daughter to a free stool at the counter.

“You didn’t stand a chance, you know that, right?” Flo smirked, sliding back into the booth. Shaking his head, he followed suit, settling in across from her. But his gaze kept skirting over to Justine, who chatted away with Grace and a customer sitting next to her. “She’s fine.”

Flo’s low murmur drew his attention, and she picked up her fork to dive back into her dinner.

“She’s fine,” Flo repeated. “Grace will keep an eagle eye on her and, I can promise you, Justine couldn’t be in safer hands.”

He lifted his refilled glass of water and sipped from it. Shaking his head, he tossed her a rueful smile. “You’re probably thinking I’m being overprotective and ridiculous. I mean, she’s only several feet away from me.”

Since the divorce and Jennifer’s absence, he’d become damn near obsessed with ensuring Justine had a semblance of stability in her everyday life. And that need didn’t stem from trying to fill the space vacated by her mother. Or rather, it didn’tjuststem from that.

He had endured the abandonment of one parent and the emotional neglect of another. Had been fucking shaped by the hollowness left behind after the grief, anger and confusion extinguished themselves. And as a child, those emotions had seemed overwhelming and incomprehensible. The powerlessness, the pain of loss—some adults couldn’t handle it, but he’d been expected to accept it and move forward as a child.

He’d do anything, sacrifice anything, for Justine not to feel that chaotic emotional earthquake that could permanently alter her world.

“I don’t think that at all.” Some emotion moved over Flo’s face. He couldn’t pinpoint it as the expression was there and gone. If pressed to label it, he’d call that flash sadness, but more complicated and...darker. “You should never apologize or second-guess your need to protect her. Five feet or five hundred miles. Distance doesn’t matter. A father’s love is a shield and safety net that every daughter, every child, should have.” She blinked, and clearing her throat, forked up more food. “Now, she might not feel that way at sixteen,” she said, attempting to inject a levity that wasn’t reflected in her brown eyes. “But at five, I promise you, she just feels secure and loved.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” he said.

Again, that flicker, but she smiled, and this time it did reach her eyes. “I have a wonderful father. He might not be my biological father, but he’s been in my life longer than I can remember. My parents officially adopted me when I was four, but they’ve cared for me, accepted me, before then. Ian Dennison doesn’t have adopted and biological children—he just has children. He’s never differentiated between any of us, and even at twenty-four, I can say with certainty that my father would go scorched earth if anyone hurt me.”

---