Brenda Harlen - The Daddy Wish

He’d just tucked the phone back into his pocket when Allison had come in to get her coat. And in that moment, he completely forgot about Mallory and every other woman he’d ever dated. In that moment, he wanted only Allison.

And when he noticed that someone had pinned a sprig of mistletoe in the center of the arched entranceway, he couldn’t resist using it to his advantage.

“Refill?”

The question jarred him back to the present. He glanced up at Chelsea, who was pointing to his empty glass.

“Sure.”

The bartender nodded, then shifted her attention to Allison. “One more?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m going to head home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone,” she said firmly, definitively.

“But it’s late,” Chelsea protested, looking pointedly in Nate’s direction.

“I live down the street,” Allison reminded her.

“Down a dark street.”

She shook her head. “Could I have my bill, please?”

Her friend looked at Nate again before she moved to the cash register to calculate the tab.

He knew how to take a hint—and he appreciated the opportunity the bartender had given to him. “I can give you a lift home,” he told Allison.

“I really do live just down the street—it’s not even far enough to drive.”

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he said.

“I appreciate the offer,” she said. “But it’s not necessary.”

“Chelsea thinks it is.”

“I don’t think that’s what Chelsea’s thinking,” she admitted to him.

His brows lifted at that; Allison just shook her head.

When Chelsea returned with the bill, Nate passed her his credit card. “Add my drink and put it on that.”

“I can pay my own bill,” Allison protested, but her friend had already walked away again.

“You shared your spinach dip with me,” Nate reminded her.

“I wouldn’t have eaten the whole thing by myself—or shouldn’t have, anyway.” But when he signed his name to the credit card receipt Chelsea put in front of him, she accepted that it was an argument that she wasn’t going to win. “Thank you, Mr. Garrett.”

“Nate,” he reminded her.

She slid off of her stool and picked up her coat. He rose to his feet, intending to walk her to her door.

“I’m just going to the ladies’ room,” she told him.

“Oh.” He sat down again, and watched out of the corner of his eye as she headed toward the alcove with the restrooms.

Chelsea finished serving another patron at the bar, then came back to him, shaking her head. “You’re too accustomed to women falling at your feet, aren’t you?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you just let Allison slip out the door.”

“She just went to the ladies’ room.”

“With her coat?”

He swore under his breath as he reached for his own.

Chelsea put her hand on his arm, shaking her head. “If you chase after her now, you’re not only going to look pathetic, you’re going to scare her away.”

He scowled at that.

“I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to walk her home,” she continued. “But maybe you’re not as interested as I thought.”

“Just because you once dated my brother for a few weeks doesn’t give you the right to pry into my personal life.”

“No,” she agreed. “But the fact that I’m Allison’s best friend gives me the right to pry into hers.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to her?”

“I tried,” she admitted. “But she doesn’t kiss and tell.”

However, the twinkle in her eye in conjunction with her word choice suggested that she knew more than she was letting on.

“Neither do I,” he said.

“So don’t talk,” she said. “Just listen.”

He picked up his soda and sipped.

“She doesn’t date—or hardly ever, and she definitely doesn’t sleep around. So if you’re not looking for anything more than a good time, you should look elsewhere.”

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he admitted.

“Then you better figure it out. And if you decide you want Allison, be prepared for the obstacles she’ll put in your path every step of the way.”

“Is that supposed to be a challenge or a warning?”

“That depends entirely on you,” Chelsea said.

Nate considered what she’d said as he walked out of the bar. She was right—he could take her words as a warning and decide to forget about the sexy executive assistant, and that was probably the smart thing to do. On the other hand, he was more intrigued by Allison Caldwell than he’d been by any other woman in a very long time—and he never turned away from a challenge.

* * *

“Come on, Dylan. Your breakfast is on the table.”

It was the third time she’d called to him, and finally he wandered out of his bedroom, still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in various directions. She looked at her sleepy-eyed son and felt the familiar rush of affection.

She hadn’t thought too much about getting married or having a baby before she found herself pregnant at twenty-one, but she’d never believed her son was anything but a gift. He wasn’t always an easy child—there were times when he challenged and frustrated and infuriated her, but she loved him with every ounce of her being.

As he passed her on the way to the table, she gave him a quick hug and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” was his sleepy reply. He settled into his usual chair at the table and scowled at the box of cereal on the table. “Can’t I have waffles?”

“Not this morning,” she told him.

His scowl deepened as he poured the Fruity O’s into his bowl, then added milk. “Can I have pizza in my lunch?”

“We don’t have any pizza.” She cut the sandwich she’d made in half diagonally and put it in a snap-lock container.

He responded with something that sounded like, “Idon’wannasan’ich,” but the words were garbled through a mouthful of cereal.

“It’s ham and cheese,” she told him. “Your favorite.”

“M’favrit’spza.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He swallowed. “My favorite’s pizza.”

“We don’t have any pizza,” she said again, adding grapes and cookies to his lunch box.

“Can we have pizza for dinner?”

“You’re going to be at your dad’s for dinner,” she reminded him.

He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I’sThursdy.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Joslynsgot—”

“Chew and swallow, please.”

He did so. “Jocelyn’s got piano and Jillian’s got dance.”

“Lucky for them.”

“Not for me,” he grumbled. “’Cause I get dragged everywhere with them.”

She wasn’t without sympathy. She could only imagine how painful it was for an almost-nine-year-old boy to sit around while his younger sisters were involved in their own activities.

“Take your 3DS,” she suggested, expecting him to jump at the offer.

“We’re not s’posed to have ’lectronics at school,” he told her.

She held back a sigh as she zipped up his lunch box and slid it into the front pocket of his backpack, double-checking to ensure that his rescue inhaler was where it was supposed to be. “Keep it in your locker.”

He shoved more Fruity O’s into his mouth, but he chewed and swallowed before speaking again. “Where’s St. Louis, anyway?”

She opened the atlas she kept on hand to assist with his geography homework and pointed out Missouri. “Right there.”

He studied the map. “It’s a lot farther than Washington.”

She knew he meant Washington, DC, which they’d visited the previous summer. “Yes, it is,” she confirmed.