The Daddy Wish

“Of course it matters.”

“Too closely.”

Chelsea sighed. “Can’t you give me at least a hint?”

She wished she could. In fact, she wished she could tell her friend everything. But Chelsea was a die-hard romantic, and the last thing Allison wanted or needed was any encouragement. Because even knowing all of the reasons that getting involved with Nathan Garrett would be a mistake, even knowing he’d been with Melanie Hedley in Colorado, she couldn’t help wishing he would kiss her again.

“No, because you’ll encourage me to do something crazy, and anything more than that one kiss would be totally crazy.”

“He really has you flustered,” Chelsea mused.

“It looks like Ty could use a hand behind the bar.”

“He’s fine.” Then her attention shifted, and her lips curved. “Although maybe I should vacate this stool for a customer—because there’s one headed in this direction who should be able to make you forget the mystery kisser and probably your own name.”

Allison turned her head to follow her friend’s gaze and sucked in a breath when her eyes locked with Nathan Garrett’s cool gray ones.

She immediately turned back to Chelsea. “Are you crazy? He’s practically my boss.”

She didn’t know if it was the words or the heat that she could feel infusing her cheeks, but somehow her response magically tied all of the loose threads together for her friend.

“It was him,” Chelsea stated. “You kissed Nathan Garrett.”

“He kissed me,” she clarified. “And it was only because of the mistletoe.”

“If he’d kissed me, I wouldn’t have let it end there.”

“You mean he hasn’t kissed you?”

Her friend’s brows lifted. “I know he has a reputation, but it isn’t all bad. In fact—” she grinned “—most of it is very good. And if he’s half as good a kisser as his brother Daniel, I can understand why your pulse is still racing.”

“My pulse isn’t still racing,” she denied.

Chelsea just smiled, rising from her stool as the soon-to-be CFO slid onto the vacant seat on Allison’s opposite side.

“What can I get for you, Nate?” Chelsea asked, returning to her position behind the bar.

“I’ll have a Pepsi.”

“Straight up or on the rocks?”

He smiled. “On the rocks.”

The bartender stepped away to pour his soda, and Nate turned to Allison. “You skipped out early today.”

She shook her head. “I only take a half-hour lunch each day so I can finish at four on Fridays.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Is that going to be a problem, Mr. Garrett?”

“I don’t see why it would.”

Allison picked up her wine, set it down again. Dammit—Chelsea was right. Her pulse was racing and her knees were weak, and there was no way she could sit here beside him, sharing a drink and conversation and not think about the fact that her tongue had tangled with his.

“I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“You haven’t finished your wine,” he pointed out.

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Stay,” he said.

She lifted her brows. “I don’t take orders from you outside of the office, Mr. Garrett.”

“Sorry—your insistence on calling me ‘Mr. Garrett’ made me forget that we weren’t at the office,” he told her. “Please, will you keep me company for a little while?”

“I’m sure there are any number of other women here who will happily keep you company when I’m gone.”

“I don’t want anyone else’s company,” he told her.

“Mr. Garrett—”

“Nate.”

She sighed. “Why?”

“Because it’s my name.”

“I meant, why do you want my company?”

“Because I like you,” he said simply.

“You don’t even know me.”

His gaze skimmed down to her mouth, lingered, and she knew he was thinking about the kiss they’d shared. The kiss she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

“So give me a chance to get to know you,” he suggested.

“You’ll have that chance when you’re in the CFO’s office.”

She frowned at the plate of pita bread and spinach dip that Chelsea slid onto the bar in front of her. “I didn’t order this.”

“But you want it,” her friend said, and the wink that followed suggested she was referring to more than the appetizer.

“Actually, I want my bill. It’s getting late and...” But her friend had already turned away.

She was tempted to walk out and leave Chelsea to pick up the tab, but the small salad she’d made for her own dinner after Dylan had gone was a distant memory and she had no willpower when it came to the Bar Down’s three-cheese spinach dip.