The Daddy Project: A Single Dad Romance

“Great. I’ll put together a proposal tonight and we can discuss it then.”

She reached for her camera, and as she got close he backed away, sensing it was a bad idea to get too close to a woman who smelled like a cross between an English country garden and a Hollywood starlet’s boudoir. Not that he knew anything about the latter, but he was a man after all, and he did have an imagination. She must have been thinking the same thing…about getting too close…because she hastily backed away, too.

“Thanks. And, um, I’m sorry about the water, and for taking you away from your work. I’m usually not this clumsy.”

He didn’t believe her. In spite of her polished appearance she seemed to have a knack for running into things, tripping over them. Oddly, it made her even more captivating. He had no business being captivated, though. She might not have a husband, but the condom in her bag meant she was involved with someone. And if she wasn’t…well, he didn’t want to know what it meant.

“Is there anything else I can tell you about the house?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“I don’t think so. I’ll just take a quick look at the bedrooms and let myself out. I assume they’re down the hallway off the foyer.”

He nodded.

She whirled around and once again his nose filled with her heavenly scent.

She crossed the family room like it was a runway, the flippy hem of her skirt flirting with her knees and the heels of her shoes making a crisp, sharp sound against the hardwood. Just before she left the room, she smiled at him over her shoulder, as if to say she knew perfectly well why he was still standing there.

“See you in the morning.” And then she was gone.

You’re wasting your time, he told himself. She’s not your type.

Did he even have a type? He’d thought it was Heather. She had been every bit as attractive as this woman was, just in a more down-to-earth, practical way. No swirly skirts and purple cupcake bags for her. Heather had been studiously working toward a doctorate in psychology when they’d started dating. They hadn’t talked about marriage, but it was the obvious thing to do after they’d found out they were expecting.

The pregnancy had taken a heavy toll on Heather’s health, but then the girls arrived and they seemed like such a gift, such a natural extension of their lives that neither of them had given much thought to any scenario other than Heather getting better. She hadn’t.

He’d been left with a lot of questions. Would she have married him under any other circumstances? Would he have married her? Those were questions with no answers, only regrets. Would she still be alive if not for the pregnancy? Of course she would. It took two people to make a baby and the rational scientific part of his brain knew that. The part that housed his conscience was another matter. It ate at him with a relentless appetite.

As for the beautiful woman who had just disappeared down the hallway, the one who might be walking into his bedroom at that precise moment, he had questions. Truth was he shouldn’t have any, but that wouldn’t prevent him from looking forward to seeing her tomorrow morning and maybe getting the answers to some of them.

Chapter Three

The next morning Kristi yawned and poured herself a cup of tea, then settled in at the kitchen table with her laptop. She had stayed up far too late last night, going over the photographs of Nate McTavish’s house and drafting a design plan. She was not a morning person at the best of times, and agreeing to meet him at nine o’clock had been a bad idea. Now she had just over an hour to review her proposal, check her email and make the twenty-minute drive to the university district.

Hercules nosed her ankle. He sat on his haunches and cocked his head when she smiled down at him.

“Hey, Herc. Do you want to sit with me?”

He danced on his hind legs, tail wagging, and she swept him onto her lap. From beneath shaggy brows, his black-button eyes sparkled up at her.

“Sit and be good or I’ll put you down.”

He settled in, and Kristi opened her email.

She wrapped one hand around her teacup and breathed in the heady jasmine-scented steam rising from it. After a quick scan of her in-box, she clicked on a message from her business partner Claire DeAngelo.

Thanks for sharing your photographs and design plan for the McTavish house. Love your ideas! Knowing you, the place will be organized in no time. Let’s see what Sam says about the renos you’ve suggested. The “greenhouse” definitely has to go, but the professor looks like a keeper. C.

PS: remember our 10:30 conference call.

The message ended with the emoticon for a wink.

Very funny, Kristi thought. She had wanted Sam to see the pergola–pool house structure that Nate had converted into a greenhouse, but she shouldn’t have sent a picture with him in it.

She opened a folder on her desktop and clicked to open the photograph.

Turning the structure back into a pool house wouldn’t take much work, so there was really no justifying the amount of time she’d spent studying the photo last night. Claire was right. He looked ridiculously good. If anyone had asked her to imagine what a botany professor looked like, her imagination would have conjured up the exact opposite of this tall, fit-without-being-totally-ripped man with gorgeous eyes and a killer smile.

She quickly clicked to close the image and opened Sam’s email next.

I agree with Claire. Great house. Great ideas. Definitely looking forward to meeting your Professor Hottie. S.

Sam’s email ended with two winks.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Their comments were all in good fun, but Kristi rolled her eyes as she read them. She had given some sketchy background information on their new client when she’d sent the photographs and the proposal to her partners late last night. Sketchy details were all she knew. He was a single dad and a widower who found that one big house and two small girls were more than he could juggle with his demanding career.

Claire, recently separated and almost certainly headed for divorce court, had declared she was off the market. Besides, Nate wasn’t her type. Her ex was an investment broker with a taste for money and a penchant for keeping up appearances. Kristi had never liked him, had always thought Claire could do better, but her friend was totally type A when it came to organizing her life. Nate’s disorganization would drive her crazy.

Sam and the love of her life, recently married at a quiet ceremony with a small gathering of family and close friends, wouldn’t give another man a second glance, no matter how hot he happened to be. Kristi had been thrilled to share maid of honor duties with Claire, and they couldn’t be happier that their business partner was happily settled with her husband AJ and their young son, Will.

Claire’s and Sam’s teasing was strictly for Kristi’s benefit. That they had picked up on her immediate attraction to this man was a testament to how well they knew one another. They also knew she was determined to maintain control of her life, at least until her daughter was grown-up and off to college, and that meant not having a man in it.

Her deadbeat dad had abandoned her and her mother after he’d lost his job, remortgaged their home and gambled everything away. And then she’d made the same mistake her mother had. Let herself be swept off her feet by a guy who was all talk and no substance. Got pregnant right out of high school. Married the guy because of course that was the right thing to do, and learned too late that he couldn’t hold down a job, didn’t know how to be a husband much less a dad and had no interest in learning.

Now her mission in life was to set an example for her daughter and break the cycle so Jenna didn’t make the same mistake. Setting a good example meant not getting involved with a man, any man, but especially not another deadbeat, until Jenna was past the age of being impressionable.

Anyone could see that Nate McTavish was smart, decent, easy on the eyes and about as far from deadbeat as any man could be, but he was still a man. He had a lot going on in his life, including grieving the loss of his wife. Kristi would be the first to admit she had enough baggage of her own. To heck with taking on anyone else’s.

Once more she scrolled through all the photographs she’d taken, from the living room and dining room with their festive party streamers to the cluttered kitchen where a board game on the table was still surrounded by lunch dishes that hadn’t been cleared away.

One photo captured the refrigerator and a cluttered counter. Like hundreds of other homes, the front of the fridge was plastered with notes, calendars, kids’ artwork. It was the photo booth strip that leaped out at her, though. She enlarged the photograph and leaned closer to the screen for a better look. Four images of Nate and his girls, snapped in rapid succession, laughing and grinning and making silly faces at the camera. Her chest went tight, the way it had when she’d first seen the pictures yesterday. There had been more strips on a tackboard in the girls’ bedroom, one on Nate’s dresser in the master bedroom and several on the desk in his home office. None of them, at least none that she’d seen, had included the wife and mother this family had lost, but together they created a poignant record of Nate’s daughters as they grew up. Altogether she’d noticed eight or ten of the strips scattered throughout the house, and she felt sure she would encounter more as she drilled down through the layers of clutter.

Organizing a client’s personal mementos fell well outside the kind of work she usually did, but the mother in her wanted to do something special with those photographs. She wished she had started a tradition like that when Jenna was little. Suggesting it now would yield one of her daughter’s signature eye rolls and a “Mo-om, that’s so lame.”

Speaking of Jenna…

Kristi glanced at the clock. Darn. In a futile attempt to keep herself on track, she kept it set five minutes fast. Even deducting those precious minutes, they were running late and it was almost time for her daughter to leave for school.

She scooted Hercules off her lap and drained her teacup as she shut down her laptop and stuffed it into her bag along with the rest of her things. On her way through the kitchen she deposited her cup in the sink and hauled her bag to the bench by the front door. Now to find her keys.

“Jenna?” she called up the stairs as she scanned the surface of the small console table inside the front door. “Are you ready?”

“Almost. Do you know where my iPod is?” Jenna shouted back.

Kristi put her search for her missing keys on pause. Exactly where you left it, she thought. Ditto for my keys.

“Haven’t seen it, sweetie.” And she didn’t have time to look. Her daughter could survive for one day without Justin and Selena. She, on the other hand, couldn’t get her day started until she found her keys.

She should have taken less time going through photos, less time checking email and a lot less time fussing with her hair and makeup. Then she had put on her blue sneakers, realized they were scuffed and grimy from clearing out a previous client’s garage and changed to the pink ones. But her blue T-shirt didn’t go, so she changed to a white one, decided against it and dashed downstairs to retrieve a pink shirt from the dryer. Then she’d let herself get distracted and had folded the rest of the laundry and put it away.