Dating a Single Dad (12 page)

“I—”

She leveled a finger in his direction. “So help me, if you say you’re sorry, I...” She gave herself a shake.

He didn’t know what to say. Sanity was making its slow way back to him, pointing and laughing at the many ways he’d made a royal mess of things, but, God help him, he had kissed her. She had kissed him back. Sweet heaven, how she had kissed him back.

She took a step back and swallowed. She seemed as rattled as he was. Sure, she covered it better, but he couldn’t help but feel a jolt of male pride that he, Hank North, had been the one to shake up Brynn Catalano.

“We will talk about...about this.” Her hands flew to her head, scooping her runaway hair back from her face, making him long to feel those curls surrounding his fingers once again. “Just...don’t you dare apologize.”

He was still too stunned by what had happened to say anything insightful or coherent so he settled for a quick nod, and briskly said, “Right. Whatever.”

She took a couple of steps back. She bit her lip and his fingers inadvertently went to his own mouth in search of the last remnants of her taste, her heat.

At last she turned, head down against the breeze, and hurried back inside. He yanked on the truck door and pulled himself inside the cab, where he sat and stared at the parking lot and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Only two things were clear. The first was that he was an idiot.

The second was that at the moment, he was too damned happy to care.

CHAPTER SEVEN

B
RYNN
’
S
FIRST
TASK
after hurrying back inside the dairy offices was to do a slow walk along all the corridors on the parking-lot side of the building. Her ears were perked up for laughter, whispers or conversations that came to an abrupt halt with her approach—anything that would indicate that someone had been glancing out the window at the precise moment when Hank—
oh, my God
—had kissed her. Or when she—
oh, my God, oh, my God
—had kind of tried to crawl inside his coat while kissing him back.

Luck seemed to be on their side. She didn’t see or hear anything that made her think anyone had seen or heard them. Which meant the only one she would have to panic about facing again was Hank himself.

Hank, whom she had threatened with dire consequences if he dared apologize. Well, tried to threaten. Stupid, damned, misbehaving brain cells.

Her patrol of the halls complete, she found a deserted ladies’ room where she locked herself in a stall and sat down to make sense of the thoughts bubbling through her brain.

Nobody saw us. Why do women always hide in the bathroom when they need to think? I shouldn’t have kissed him back. I hope no one comes in here. What will I say to him tonight? Oh, my God, what if someone saw us? Damn, he’s a good kisser. I wonder what else he— Oh, no. No. That’s not happening. Moxie would be— No, there’s no way to predict what Moxie would say. Should I tell Taylor? Damn, I want to kiss him again.

She sat and breathed in and out, slow and steady, letting the thoughts pour out uncensored. In the worst days of her youth when her mom was in the hospital and her so-called dad was AWOL and her brothers were scared and crying, she had figured out that it was useless to bottle up her own runaway imagination. Better to get it all out. Then and only then could she move forward with the bright smile they needed.

For a minute or two, maybe more, she let the thoughts flow unchecked. Then, with her head emptied of all the competing worries and memories, she was able to focus. Get herself back under control. She pulled a notepad and pen from her purse and listed the items to be considered. Somehow, when she did this, things never seemed quite as overwhelming.

• Talk to Taylor about Hank’s past, but make sure she doesn’t suspect anything.
  
• Decide what to say if anyone should mention the kiss.
  
• Decide what you want to happen next.
  
• Decide what to say to Hank tonight.
  

She chewed on the end of her pen and considered her points. The second one was the easiest. If anyone should say anything, she decided, she would shrug, act like it was no big deal and then ask if they were planning to watch the game that night. Hockey was the one topic that could always distract a Canadian from any other subject.

Decide what you want to happen next....
That would have to wait. First, she needed time for her body to stop sending out little messages of joy every time she remembered those moments. She could almost hear her various bits and pieces whispering their approval.
Please, Brynn, can we have some more?

Her body might have a pretty strong agenda, but she was still the one in charge around here. No decisions could be made until she had more time and a lot more information. And since she couldn’t plan what to say to Hank until she had made a decision, she needed to start with the first item on her list.

She tapped out a quick text to Taylor.
Meet me for lunch?

Sure. Indian?

When had Taylor developed a taste for Indian food?
Sounds good.

After setting the details, she snapped her phone closed with a nod. She immediately popped it open again and sent another message, to pregnant cousin Paige, inquiring both as to how things were going and if any maternity-leave decisions had been finalized. That should help her subconscious remember that her focus belonged on her family, not on Hank North. No matter how great a kisser he might be.

She might have lost her head out there in the parking lot, but she was back in charge now.

Everything was under control.

* * *

T
HIRTY
MINUTES
LATER
,
she breezed into Comeback Cove’s one and only Indian buffet and slid into the booth across from Taylor.

“You beat me!”

Taylor’s smile was so wide, she looked almost like her old self. “I swore I’d get here first this time, so I left fifteen minutes before I thought I should, just to be sure.”

“A change. I like it. And a new cuisine, too.”

“Oh. Well, just doing my part. This is one of Ian’s favorite places.”

“Really? Good girl!”

“I deserve more than a ‘good girl.’ The only thing I can really eat is the chicken tikka and the
pakora.
Oh, and the rice.” This smile wasn’t quite as glowing, but the determination shone through. “The main thing is, it’s bringing back memories, and they’re good, and that gives me hope.”

“That’s awesome, Tay.”
I wanted to pull Hank into his truck and fog up the windows.

Brynn blinked. Where the hell had that come from? She’d thought the hormones had been wrestled into submission on the drive over.

Huh. This was what happened when she went too long between men. Her body went into sex-zombie mode, but instead of moaning for brains, it shambled off in search of nooky.

But she could handle this. She was in control. And she had a job to do.

As soon as they had filled their plates and settled back into the red vinyl booth, she took a healthy sip of her mango
lassi
and eased sideways into her topic. “Hank is point-blank refusing to be part of the dance, and I have a feeling there’s more to it than self-consciousness.”

“Congenital grumpiness?”

She wanted to agree but couldn’t. Hank was grumpy, yes, but not all the time. Not when he was teasing Millie, not when he was eating chili after a long night in the emergency room and sure as hell not when he was kissing her knees out from beneath her in the parking lot. In fact, if she had to define his temperament, she would be more likely to say he was...shy? Socially rusty, for sure. But capable of immense warmth.

“I don’t know. I told him about it last night, and he said he was too busy. But he seemed kind of— I don’t know. Embarrassed? Defensive?” Which could have been explained by Heather’s bombshell, true. But since she was mostly using this topic as a way to slide into her true questions, she could fudge things a bit.

“Oh, crap.” Taylor sat back, her fork stabbing the air. “How could I forget? The hockey dance.”

“The what?”

“It was in high school. Hank was in grade nine, I think—yes, because I was at the dance with Brian Quinlan, and he was my grade-eleven guy.”

“I don’t remember you talking about that one.”

Taylor patted her hand. “When I was in grade eleven, you would have been in grade ten. You were kind of busy that year.”

Oh. Right. Sometimes Brynn forgot that most people hadn’t spent their high school years in such a blur that they hadn’t had time to formulate anything more than a few memories. Not that she would have wanted to hold tight to much about those years, but it would be nice if, once in a while, she could conjure up a story to share with Trent and Luke.

“Anyway, every year there was a big dance before the first hockey game of the year. It was the social highlight of the fall. Hank went, and he...well... The only way to describe it was that it was like watching a grasshopper do gymnastics.”

Brynn winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened, because, you know, he played trombone in the school band so he knows music and rhythm and stuff. But that night he was all over the floor. I think he must have just seen
Boogie Nights
and was trying to use some of the moves from that.”

“Well, that must have sucked for him.”

“Worse. It followed him around all year. Every time there was a dance his picture would pop up on some of the posters. There was something in the talent show... It went on and on.”

Brynn pushed a piece of chicken with her fork. “And Comeback Cove being the kind of place it is, I imagine there’s a lot of folks still living here who remember this.”

“Probably not as many as he thinks. I mean, I had forgotten about it. But in his shoes, I don’t think I would be in any hurry to strut my stuff in front of a hometown crowd.”

“All the more reason why he should do it.”

A plan was taking shape in her head. A plan that she was pretty sure Hank wouldn’t like, but one he couldn’t refuse, because it would help Millie.

But while that plan percolated, she had some other investigating to do. After some more distraction, of course.

She asked Taylor about Ian, about her mom, about work. Carter’s name never came up, and Brynn had enough presence of mind to take note of that fact. It was too soon to celebrate, but Taylor was committed to the plan at this point, and that, she knew, was half the battle.

It wasn’t until they were spooning up thin, sweet rice pudding that Brynn let herself ask the question that had brought her to lunch in the first place.

“So...Millie’s mom. Where is she?”

“Somewhere on Vancouver Island. Nanaimo, maybe. Why?”

Brynn shrugged. “No real reason. It’s just I’ve seen a lot of pictures of her while I’ve been hanging out with Millie, and I was curious.”

“About where she lives?”

“No, dipstick. About what happened.”

“Why? Do you have the hots for Hank?”

The best defense is a good offense.
“Oh, yeah. I fantasize about him constantly. Can barely get my work done, I’m so busy imagining the day he’ll notice me.”

Taylor snickered. “Okay, okay. I get the point.”

Oh, good. Her scheme had worked. Nothing would be gained by gushing to Taylor that Hank’s years playing the trombone had left him with some majorly amazing lip muscles. But at the same time...

No.

“Look, we both know I’m a nosy bitch. But Millie talks about her mom, and there’s pictures and notes and things from Heather everywhere. It all seems very...I don’t know...civilized and friendly. Which is wonderful. You know I’m all for fathers who put the kid first.”

“But you don’t know why two people who seem to be so friendly got divorced in the first place.”

“Like I said, nosy.”

“Well, in this case, you’re going to have to stay curious, because the honest truth is, I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on. No one ever really knows what goes on in a marriage, true, but there’s always speculation when it ends.”

“Well, yeah, of course.” Taylor shrugged. “But really, it wasn’t hard to predict. Heather got pregnant while they were still in university. They got married, Millie came along, Hank finished school and worked at the dairy while Heather finished her degree. Then she up and left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. It was before I was with Ian, so I don’t know many details. Apparently, Hank came home one Friday night, Heather told him she couldn’t do this anymore and boom. Exit stage right.” Taylor sipped her Diet Coke.

Ouch. “So Millie was, what, two?”

“Around that, yeah.”

Brynn ran her spoon idly through the bits of pudding left in her bowl, watching the lines appear in the creamy whiteness and then fill back in. Here and gone, here and then gone. Just like Heather.

Walking away from marriage, Brynn could understand. Walking away from a child—no.

Lukie had been not quite five when their father left. Watching her baby brother sobbing in fear had been enough to destroy any last bits of love Brynn might have felt for their disappearing father. She couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of the kind of treatment Heather had dished out and still being willing to leave the photos on display, facilitate the phone calls, do everything possible to ensure that the bond between mother and child wasn’t permanently severed.

But that was exactly what Hank had done.

Brynn was pretty sure that a man who could do that, a man with that kind of history, wasn’t the kind to kiss a woman on a whim. There would have been a lot of thought beforehand. A lot of deliberation. She had told him not to apologize, and she’d meant it. She didn’t want him to regret those moments when they had pushed each other to forget the wind and the onlookers and the consequences.

But there was no way that she could give a man like Hank what she feared he was seeking....

Forever.