Single Dad Seeks Juliet Read online

  I had to swim away—to put some distance between us—for the sake of my survival. I mean, Jesus. From what I know about space stuff, black holes, like, suck stuff in forever, never to be seen again. With the way my hormones were raging, I would have been in the same predicament, for sure.

  No turning back.

  I shake my head to clear it and grab my belongings from the sink top. The longer I stare at myself in the mirror, the more uncomfortable thoughts start to surface, and I’m not ready to face them.

  I make my way along the stalls, up to the front entrance of the bathroom, while shoving my deodorant back down in my bag. I round the corner of the wall at the exit and slam right into a hard body.

  “I’m sorry!” I squeak, but firm hands settle at my hips before I can say any more. I’d be lying if I said I could say any more. The truth is, looking up into startling aqua eyes and feeling the sensation of his hands on me again have robbed the voice box right from my throat.

  Call the cops, baby. I’m a victim of a crime.

  Holy moly, I think I’m losing it.

  Jake smiles at me like he can hear all of the thoughts running through my mind. Like he’s acutely attuned to every stupid thing I can’t seem to stop myself from wondering about.

  I reach out to grab his tattooed arm—purportedly to push myself back and away—but when a fresh droplet of water sinks into my palm from the skin of his forearm, my vision tunnels and my actions slow. My God…is that droplet of water from his shower? And if so, what other parts of his body might it have touched?

  Someone call a doctor. I’m a sick, sick woman.

  Slowly, carefully, I extricate myself from his body and try my best to smile without looking like I’ve just been fantasizing about him. It seems like a better option than pretending to be mad again because that means coming up with things to argue about. And he’s funny. It’s not easy pretending like the jokes he makes are annoying.

  I have no idea if I succeed in my endeavor to look innocent or not, and I hope I never find out. Because with my track record, the statistics on that one, friends, would not be in my favor.

  “You ready to go to breakfast?” he asks casually, like we spend the day together all the time. It’s startling how natural it sounds.

  “Yep.” I reach back to the suit hanging over my bag and hold it up for him. “I rinsed out Chloe’s bathing suit, but I can take it home and wash it if you’d like.”

  He shakes his head, grabbing it from me. “No problem.”

  I watch with startling fascination as he throws it over his shoulder and tucks it close to his throat.

  That was just on me—in fact, the crotch of the suit that’s closest to his mouth is still warm from my flesh.

  Danger! Danger!

  I shake my head to clear it again. What is wrong with me this morning? Who even thinks of something like that? Like, how horny am I?

  I point in the direction of my car over my shoulder. “I can drive myself. Probably a good idea.”

  He smiles, but he stops himself from laughing at me by biting into the flesh of his bottom lip. “No need. We can walk to breakfast.”

  “Walk?” I ask, almost sounding horrified. “How far is it?”

  He laughs now. “Just under a block. Don’t worry, you’ll make it without collapsing.” I glare, but he keeps going. “And if you don’t, I’ll pick you up and carry you.”

  All attitude and sass, I step around him to start walking, but I’m not paying enough attention to my footing and accidentally step off the sidewalk and into the sand.

  It took a full three minutes to get these sandals all done up again—don’t ask me to explain why I chose them—and now one foot is full of sand.

  I try to ignore it, even try to discreetly shake the sand out, but it’s beyond annoying. The grains are in all the bad spots, rubbing the skin off my foot with quick precision. I’m going to have to stop and fix it, but that’s going to make it really hard to continue to save face.

  Desperate, I transform my gait into a limp. Maybe if I don’t put full pressure on that foot, it’ll survive the walk to the restaurant without needing to be amputated.

  “Holley,” Jake remarks behind me, watching me do my best impression of a peg-legged pirate. “Did you step on a scorpion or something? What are you doing?”

  “I have sand in my shoe,” I say with a roll of my eyes, finally stopping and bending down to try to get it out.

  Jake doesn’t say much from behind me, so I do my best to ignore him while I work at the intricate strap and buckle that circle my ankle.

  It’s always difficult to get the strap out of the buckle because the leather is too stiff to really bend. They’re adorable shoes, but they’re really a pain in the ass. I do my best not to think about the fact that I actually put these on in some lame attempt to impress Jake with my good fashion sense.

  The reality is, he probably didn’t even notice.

  I shove and pull and torture the strap, trying to force it to bend to my will and release the prong from its hole. My cheeks flush immediately at my own mental commentary.

  All I can think about are the barbed penises I read about in J.R. Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood books. Now that was a prong that was hard to get out of a hole.

  Still messing with the buckle and thinking about sex with a penis that actually, like, latches on, I’m caught off guard when Jake scoops me up into his arms and tosses me over his shoulder in a full-on fireman’s carry. The bathing suit is gone, but I’ve been messing with my shoe for way longer than would have been necessary for him to actually put it away in his bag somewhere.

  I shriek, of that I’m sure, but finding actual words to shout at him is proving much, much harder.

  “I… Well… I’ve never… Hey!” I ramble, trying to sound convincingly aggressive.

  He snickers, of course, obviously shaken by my articulate and well-versed threats.

  “Put me down,” I finally manage, but the shake of his head against my hip makes me seal my lips altogether.

  “Nope,” he declines, hoisting me even farther up onto his shoulder to find a comfortable position while he walks. “You’re taking too long, and I’m hungry. I saw you try to work those sandals this morning before you came down onto the beach, and it took you a year and a half.”

  “You saw that?” I whisper, unable to hide my horror that I wasn’t in my own world as I’d so naïvely thought then.

  “Yes. I watched until it was too painful to watch anymore, so I’m not watching again. I’m all topped up on my quota for watching you mess with sandals for the day.”

  “Well, then,” I huff.

  He chuckles. “Don’t get all offended. Once we’re at the diner, you can take your sweet time fixing it. Hell, I’ll even help you fix it if you want me to. But I’m not waiting anymore here. I can’t.”

  I shut my mouth and narrow my eyes at his back. He doesn’t seem fazed, but that could have something to do with the fact that he can’t see my glare.

  Regardless, we walk the rest of the way to the restaurant like that—me tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and silent.

  When we get to the entrance, he sets me on my feet again, and miraculously, my sandal seems to be free from sand. It’s almost like his carrying me shook it all loose.

  I don’t say anything, instead following him into the hostess stand and then walking right past it like we own the place. I look back at the Please Wait to Be Seated sign with uncontrollable do-gooder anxiety, but Jake doesn’t even pause. I do my best to keep up.

  We take a booth in the front of the restaurant, grab menus from their spot behind the condiments, and scan the food options in silence.

  If it’s possible, it seems like we’re actually in the middle of a little tiff. We’re practically strangers, and yet it feels very much like we’re an old married couple in the midst of a spat.

  “Have you ever been here before?” I ask in an effort to break the tension.

  His smirk
is sharp and sarcastic. “A time or two.”

  “What?” I ask, annoyed by his attitude.

  “I come here every morning.”

  “Oh,” I say with a smarmy raise of my eyebrows. “Well. How was I supposed to know that?” I question but shield my annoyed expression with my menu.

  Jake just snorts in response.

  “What’s good here, then, oh great patron?”

  His eyes dance as he pulls my menu down from in front of my face, one corner of his mouth hitched up. “Are you mad at me?”

  “What?” I ask. “Why would I be mad at you?”

  He shakes his head, the other side of his mouth now engaging in the smile. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  “I’m not mad,” I lie.

  “Are you sure? Because you sure seem mad about something. Maybe me carrying you here?”

  “I’m not,” I lie again. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Oh,” he says, nodding dramatically. “Fine. Gotcha. That changes everything.”

  “Don’t mock me,” I challenge.

  “Come on, Holley,” he says through a knowing chuckle, gesturing to my face with one hand. “You’re mocking yourself. You know as well as I do, ‘fine’ is one of the most mischaracterized words in the English language. Fine is worse than bad. Fine means I should pack up my shit and go.”

  “All right!” I snap. “I’m…mad. Sort of. But I’m not sure why, okay?”

  I expect him to cackle in my face. I mean, I sound ludicrous. Instead, he reaches out and pats my hand. “There we go!” He smiles. “Doesn’t that feel good? To get the truth out in the open?”

  I frown a little, but I can’t help but consider what he’s saying. I do feel better. It makes no sense at all, but all the tension in my shoulders has softened. “I’m very confused by you, Jake.”

  He laughs at that. “And I you, Holley. I think that’s the way of our genders, though. Let’s not fight it, okay?”

  I nod. I don’t know what I’ve just agreed to, really—it feels like some kind of illicit or illegal treaty—but I have no choice but to run with it at this point.

  “Now,” he says. “As far as breakfast is concerned, you really can’t go wrong. Everything is great, but I usually get two eggs, over medium, a large side of bacon, wheat toast, and a side of seasoned, cubed hash browns.”

  “That sounds good. I think I’ll get that too.”

  “Great. Do you want coffee?”

  I scoff. Do I want coffee? What kind of a question is that?

  He grins, understanding my nonverbal cues better than I understand them myself. “Coffee’s a yes, then.”

  The waitress finally stops at our table after running the feet right off her legs. She looks like she’s one of the only people here, and the place is packed. Jake smiles up at her, and I swear, she looks down at him like he’s Christ reborn, here to save her.

  “Jake,” she says, her voice warm.

  “Hey, Shell. Crazy today, huh?”

  “You have no idea.” She breathes out a deep sigh. “SEALs are supposed to graduate BUD/S tomorrow. Families are in town.”

  Jake nods like he knows what she’s talking about, but my eyebrows pull together. Seals? Buds? As in Navy SEALs? I really should have researched this more after he saved me the other morning.

  “That’s right,” he says with a smile. “Almost lost track of what day it is.”

  She chortles and reaches down to touch his shoulder softly. “You and me both.”

  “We’ll both take my usual, okay?”

  Shell finally looks over from Jake to me, but I’m pleased to see her eyes warm on me too. There’s no jealousy or angst from her. She’s just friendly. I make sure my answering smile meets my eyes.

  “Nice to meet you, Shell,” I say. “I’m Holley.”

  “You too, darlin’. Be right back with your coffees,” she says to us both with a wink.

  “She’s nice,” I say as soon as she walks away.

  Jake nods. “She is. Works really hard, too. She has a couple kids and a deadbeat husband, so tips are really important to her.”

  I purse my lips as I think about Shell struggling. I don’t want that for her. Instantly, I dig down in my purse to try to find some extra bills to leave for her on the table when we go. She needs them more than I do.

  Jake’s hand comes down on my own to stop me, but when I look up, his eyes make Shell’s look like glaciers. Geez. I don’t really know if I’ve ever been looked at like that. “She won’t take it,” he whispers. “That’s why I come here every morning. You have to spread it out a little bit at a time.”

  My throat closes around itself as he sits back in the booth and looks out the window. His jaw is strong, and Lord Almighty, he’s attractive. Now, after telling me the reason he comes here every freaking morning, dare I say, more than ever.

  And let me tell you—he’s pretty dang attractive all the time. So, being more than that? Should be impossible.

  I set my purse back down on the seat beside me and lean my elbows into the table with a sigh, asking, “So, what else should I know about you?” He raises his eyebrows, and I shake my head and clear my throat. “What should readers know about you, I mean.”

  “I’m just a regular guy.” He shrugs off his words. “Have been for a really long time.”

  My eyes narrow on his way-too-vague answer, but I don’t have time to argue it. Shell arrives with our plates, and I have to shove back out of the way so she can place it in front of me. “Wow,” I say. “That was quick.”

  Shell winks at me before setting down Jake’s plate. “Let me know if you all need anything else.”

  She’s barely out of earshot when Jake leans into the table to whisper. “She probably snuck our order to the front of the line.”

  I smile. “Shell is quickly working her way on to my Christmas list.”

  I was really only speaking to myself, but Jake laughs anyway.

  I look up at the sound, and as luck would have it, that means I’m just in time to see him pick up the leafy garnish under the wedge of orange on his plate and toss it into his mouth.

  “What…what are you doing?” I ask, flabbergasted. “That’s a garnish.”

  He shrugs. “Tastes like lettuce to me.”

  “You’re not supposed to eat it,” I point out further.

  “So?”

  “You just ate it!”

  “I know,” he confirms. “Still chewing on it right now.”

  “I just… Why would you do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I do it? It’s edible. It’s on my plate. I ate it.”

  “That’s so not the point.”

  He quirks a brow. “And what is the point exactly?”

  Head absolutely spinning that we’re in the middle of another semi-spat over him being a freak, I decide to drop it. “Never mind.”

  A soft chortle slips past his full lips. “Man, that’s going to bother you all day, isn’t it?”

  “It’s just weird!” I snap.

  His hand shoots out and grabs the garnish from my plate and shoves that in his mouth too.

  “Why?” I whine into my hands. “Why are you taunting me?”

  He cracks up then, but he eventually reaches across the table to pull my hands off my eyes. “Okay,” he says with a raise of his hands in surrender. “I’m done.”

  I snort. “That’s because you’ve eaten it all!”

  “Maybe,” he concedes with a wink.

  “Just eat your real food now, weirdo.”

  I don’t have to tell him twice. He scoops a giant piece of egg onto his fork and lifts it to his mouth, and I tuck into my own food. We really do have a long day ahead of us, and I have a lot of notes to take. This first article isn’t going to write itself, and unlucky for me, it’s already due tomorrow afternoon because it’s supposed to print in the Sunday edition. I have no choice but to get it done.

  Jake’s phone buzzes on the table, and a smile lights his face as he wipes
his mouth with his napkin, sets his fork on his plate, and picks it up to answer it.

  “Good morning, Chlo,” he says into the space between us, the phone tucked close to his ear. His words are warm and familiar, and his heart is in his eyes.

  It’s more than apparent, his sun rises and sets within his daughter.

  I smile to myself but duck my head back down to look at my plate.

  “Yeah. I know,” he continues his conversation. “Yeah, she’s right across from me. We’re having breakfast.”

  He chuckles, and an intense curiosity lights my whole body on fire. They’re talking about me, and I need to know what they’re saying.

  “I am being nice,” he asserts. “Why wouldn’t I be nice?”

  He laughs again, then snaps at me to look up at him. I do, obviously, and I’m even half confident that I don’t look guilty as hell when I do. No, no, Jake. I haven’t already been listening to your conversation with bated breath at all…

  “What?” I mouth, but he waves a hand to say never mind.

  “What, then? Do you want me to send proof of life or something?” Curiosity makes me scrunch my face as he offers, “I could take a picture of her right now. Send it to you.”

  Panic shoots into my veins. Whoa, whoa, whoa. No pictures of me are supposed to occur.

  “I am being serious,” he responds, a perpetual chuckle making the air between us vibrate. “You’ll see her tonight, and you can ask all the questions you want yourself…” He pauses, and I listen harder. It doesn’t help, but my ears do ring a little with the extra concentration. “Yes. Dinner at Boogie’s.”

  Boogie’s?

  Familiarity makes my synapses light up. My dad and I have been going to a place named Boogie’s ever since he sold the family farm in Iowa and moved out here to retire and be closer to me a couple years ago. He says it’s the only thing that makes him feel even remotely close to home. Well, that and me.

  “Listen, Chlo, I have to go. Gotta be at work in half an hour.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I know I’m the boss, but it doesn’t matter. What are you doing today?”

  He listens for a minute, transforming from playful back to full-on dad mode. “Okay. Text me when you get there, text me when you leave. You know the drill. And be careful. Always pay attention to your surroundings, yeah?”