Page 45 of The Single Dad Project

CHAPTER NINE

IT’DBEENWEEKSsince Adam had been to this brick building off Main Street, but he remembered the sturdy iron staircase that led to the apartment above Perfect Images. Of course, the last time he’d been here, he hadn’t known Flo owned the studio below.

Of course, last time, he hadn’t known Flo’s name.

Climbing the stairs, he silently cursed himself for being here at eight o’clock at night instead of home with his little girl. Cursed himself for not letting it go when it came to Florence Dennison.

Common sense insisted he keep this...thing, whatever it was between them, professional. It couldn’t go anywhere. He had a job to do here in Rose Bend and as soon as it ended, he and Justine would be returning to Chicago. Not to mention, Flo was thirteen years his junior. A lifetime of experiences and differences.

And yet, recognizing all of that, here he stood. Ready to be...involved.

Raising his arm, he knocked his fist against the apartment door. Moments later the lock twisted and the door opened. He studied that crack as it creaked wider and wider, waiting for his first glimpse of her.

Flo had claimed space in his head since rushing out of the Hudson house earlier today, refusing to be evicted. He couldn’t get the image of her stricken expression out of his mind. Her body had trembled against his, and she’d allowed him to support her. While that had sent a bolt of fierce protectiveness through him, it’d also ratcheted up his worry. Because he might’ve only known Flo for a few short weeks, but he was certain she would’ve only allowed him to hold her up if she was scared or ill.

Flo stood in the doorway, and he ran his gaze over her, taking in her locs pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head, the black tank top molding to her slim frame and firm breasts, down to her loose dark red pants. When he met her dark brown eyes again, he caught the surprise flickering there.

“You made it home in one piece. That’s a plus,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Adam.” She grasped the doorjamb. “What’re you doing here?”

“I apologize for showing up unannounced, Flo, but after earlier, I just wanted to check on you.”

I wanted to make sure you were okay. Make sure you weren’t still wearing that shattered expression that damn near stopped my heart.

Flo shuffled back a step, opening the door wider. He took that as her invitation to come in. And he accepted.

Moving forward, he entered her apartment, and déjà vu slammed into him. That evening, admittedly never far from his memory, shimmered in front of him like some kind of desert-induced mirage. The living/dining room combo decorated with tall windows facing the quiet street and its interesting collection of mismatched furniture that somehow seemed to, well...match. The small kitchen to his left separated by a bar and stool. What he remembered most, though?

The gorgeous framed photographs on the walls.

Vivid, lush images of beautiful landscapes, even more beautiful people. He didn’t need to be told it was her work. Not after today. Not after seeing the absolute magic she could wield with a camera. He could identify her pieces in an array of others.

“Where’s Jussy?” she asked, heading for the kitchen, disappearing around the short wall.

“My neighbor offered to watch her for a little while. They’re nice, with a small child of their own, and Justine’s played with their niece and nephew a couple of times. You might know them. Isaac and Jenna Hunter?”

She strode back into the living room with two water bottles in hand, extending one toward him.

Huffing out a small laugh, she twisted the cap off. “A little familiar with them seeing as how I sat across from both of them at dinner last Sunday.” She took a sip. “Jenna is my older sister and sister-in-law’s best friend. She and Isaac are great.”

“That makes me feel even better, thank you. For that and this.” He held up the bottle though he didn’t open it. “How are you, Flo?”

Her jaw worked, her lips tightening before she lifted her bottle for another sip.

“Fine,” she finally said.

Yeah, that wasn’t going to work for him. He crossed the small space separating them, lifted his hand and pinched her chin. Her water bottle, halfway to her mouth again, stopped. She stared at him, and that flicker of surprise flashed in her eyes once more. He much preferred it over the careful blankness that had been in her voice.

“Still a little liar, I see,” he murmured, drawing them both back to the night they met. The night they ended up right here in her apartment. “I have eyes, Flo. And you’re anything but fine.”

“We’re not friends,” she stated, but without heat.

More like...desperation. He’d visited that place called desperation. Knew it intimately enough to identify it when he heard it.

“As you pointed out the other day. And what did you tell me then? That fact makes talking to me easier,” he continued, not granting her a chance to answer. “I’m here again. Don’t think. Don’t censor. Just let go.”

He cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. Back and forth. Back and forth. And he waited—studied her and waited.

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