Page 60 of The Single Dad Project

Against her will, she slid another look at Noah. To glimpse his reaction at her calling another man—his brother—Dad? To detect any emotion at all?

Nothing. His impassive expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. And considering his decades-long silence only occasionally broken by birthdays and holidays revolving around Jesus, she shouldn’t have expected more.

Fuck her glutton-for-punishment heart, but she did.

The manners her parents had force-fed her kicked in, and she nodded at him.

“Noah.”

Even that felt strange, odd. He’d been the very first man she’d called Daddy; she remembered that much. But he’d long since stopped beingDaddyin her head and heart—about a year after he left, when she realized he wouldn’t be returning. Ian Dennison was her father, had been for so long that even thinking about his brother in that capacity felt blasphemous. But as the past couldn’t be changed, neither could the facts.

Noah Dennison had been married to her mother. She’d chosen him as not just her husband, but a parent for Flo. Noah had been the first father figure in Flo’s life.

Noah had abandoned her.

“Hi, Flo. It’s good to see you again,” Noah said, and the careful politeness of this exchange raked over her nerves.

Gripping the banister tighter, she nodded again. Silence seemed the best alternative to lying and reciprocating his words.

“I sent Justine in the kitchen with Leo to meet Moe. I should probably get in there...” She descended the last couple of stairs, but drew to an abrupt halt, nearly stumbling, when Noah shifted forward, his hand outstretched toward her.

“I’m sorry.” He tunneled fingers through his hair, drawing the gray-streaked brown strands off his forehead. “I, uh...” Dropping his arm, he held up a hand, palm out. “Could I speak to you for a few minutes, Flo?” He lowered his arm, his palm rubbing down the side of his thigh. “Please?”

No. No way in hell.

The shout bounced off the walls of her head, and she parted her lips to deliver a flatno, but she made the mistake of glancing at her father. Of glimpsing the glint of pleading in his eyes. Pleading and something else. There and gone in an instant, Flo couldn’t decipher what thatsomething elsewas. Pleading from a man who’d done nothing but given to her over and over, asking for nothing in return—she couldn’t say no.

Damn.

“Okay,” she finally said, and though she caught the relief in her father’s gaze, that didn’t lessen the pressure constricting her ribs. “We can speak out on the porch.”

The inn had too many ears, too many eyes. And the beautiful, open common room, the sizable foyer and the kitchen—rooms she’d always been perfectly comfortable in before—suddenly felt too small, too crowded and lacking efficient air. Even as she skirted around her father and Noah, she struggled to inhale a deep breath. One that didn’t contain the fragrant aroma of the coffee Moe kept brewed for the inn’s guests, the faint lemon-and-cedar scent used to clean and vacuum the rooms, or the stink of her own resentment and nerves.

Reaching the front door, she yanked it open with more force than necessary, pushed past the storm door and stepped out on the porch. Immediately, she moved to one of the posts, leaning a shoulder against it and crossing her arms. Moments later Noah followed, shutting the door behind him. Wisely, he didn’t cross the space she’d created between them.

It’d been literal decades since she’d last seen him in Rose Bend. And the occasional cards and old pictures of him and her mother hadn’t prepared her for this moment. This older, grizzled version of the man she faintly remembered superimposed itself over the younger, leaner version, and it left her unsteady as she tried to grasp the fact that he was here, in front of her, and not stuck in the nebulous, hazy recesses of her memories.

“Thank you for giving me a moment to talk with you, Flo,” Noah said, mimicking her pose on the opposite post. “I have to imagine that wasn’t easy for you.” When she didn’t agree or disagree, he dipped his chin, staring at his feet. “I’m sorry for just...showing up without any warning. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I would return until my car hit the town limits. And even then...” He shook his head. “I guess I didn’t want to give advance warning just in case someone told me not to bother.”

Did he expect sympathy from her? Well, he would have a long-ass wait.

“Dad is happy you’re here. And I’m sure Moe is, too,” she murmured.

“Yeah, it’s been awesome seeing them again. Although they’re old now.” He chuffed out soft laughter. “We all are. I think, in my mind, they still looked as they did while in their thirties. Which is ridiculous since I look in the mirror every morning and see my own gray.” He swept a hand over his peppered strands again.

He was babbling.

Nerves? She stifled the pang in her chest at the thought of him being anxious just from talking to her.

He damn well should be.What do you say to the little girl you promised to love and protect as your own then walked away from?Sorry ’bout thatdidn’t exactly cut it.

Not that he’d said even that.

“We’re all older,” she said and fell quiet again.

She didn’t miss his subtle wince.

“Yes, we are,” he softly said. Uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he cocked his head, studying her. “I couldn’t believe when I first saw you. My mind knows, accepts, that you’re twenty-four, an adult. And yet—” he shook his head “—not seeing that adorable little girl with a big laugh and even bigger personality shocked me. But I still recognized you. The eyes.” He waved a hand in front of his. “They’re all your mother. I don’t know if Ian and Moe have shown you pictures of her, but you look like Aisha did at your age.” He smiled and it held more than a trace of wistfulness and sadness. “She would be so proud of the woman you’ve become. And knowing her, she would get such a kick out of you resembling her so much.”

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