My head starts spinning as the girls fire seemingly random questions at me, but after the tenth or so inquiry, I realize they’re asking me if I like the things they like. They’re sussing me out, trying to figure out if I’m good enough to be their friend—or rather, if I’m good enough to be their father’s friend.
I answer each question honestly, which I think they appreciate. Even though Libby turns her nose up when I admit I hate gummy bears, she nods solemnly at the explanation I give—“I don’t like slimy things in my mouth.”
Matt snickers loudly at that. He’s slowly been creeping toward us, not getting too close to the windows, but close enough to eavesdrop apparently.
“That’s what she said,” he coughs into his hand.
June notices her father and squeals. “Daddy!”
“You guys have enough of this view already?” he asks us. “Because I’m hungry.”
“Liar. You’re just looking for an excuse to hide in the restaurant,” I accuse, and the twins giggle in delight.
He winks at me. “That too. But it is one o’clock, which is usually when the girls have lunch. What do you say, kidlets? Lunchtime?”
We end up in a corner booth in the family restaurant at the tower, not the revolving one that would probably put Matt in a straight jacket. As the girls babble to each other while eating chicken fingers shaped like animals, Matt slides one hand under the table and slips his fingers through mine.
“Thanks for coming along,” he murmurs.
I smile. “Thanks for inviting me.” I give his hand a teasing squeeze. “Though I think you only did that so someone could stand at the windows with your kids.”
His answering smile is wry. “I’m sorry you have to witness this. I don’t know what it is about heights, but…” He gives an exaggerated shiver. “Man, I hate ’em.”
“I like that,” I admit.
He arches a brow. “You like that I’m a total pus—wimp about heights?” He shoots a glance at his daughters to make sure they didn’t hear his almost-use of pussy.
“No, I like that you’re not invincible.” I reach for my soda and take a long sip. “It makes me feel less inclined to stammer and stutter in your presence, knowing you’re such a wimp.”
“Ha ha.” He studies my face for a moment. “You haven’t stammered and stuttered in a while, now that I think about.” A grin stretches his sexy mouth. “Could someone finally be warming up to me?”
I warmed up to you the day we met. I melted for you the second you kissed me.
I swallow the urge to voice those thoughts. I have no idea how I feel about Matt, except that I love spending time with him, and, yes, I’m definitely starting to relax around him. Jenny was right—my confidence took a hit after the divorce. But it’s slowly coming back. I feel stronger. More self-assured.
“There might be some warming,” I concede with mock reluctance. “But I’m not sure I can deal with the scared-of-heights thing.” I lean in to whisper in his ear. “Now’s probably not the time to tell you that I enjoy skydiving, right?”
He blanches. “Oh God. Please tell me you’re lying.”
“Afraid not. I try to get a dive in a couple times a year if I can. Biggest thrill ever.”
“You’re dead to me,” he deadpans.
I burst out laughing, then lift my hand from under the table and pat his broad shoulder. “It’s okay. I’d never force you to skydive with me. We all have our stuff.”
We’re interrupted when Libby reaches over to persistently tug at Matt’s sleeve. “Daddy. I have to potty.”
“Ah. Okay. Let’s take care of that, shall we?”
He starts to push his chair back, but I get up instead. “I can take her,” I offer. “Saves you an awkward trip to the men’s.”
He looks grateful. “Thanks, Hott—Hailey,” he corrects himself.
“Of course.” I hold out my hand to the little girl. “You ready, Eddie?”
She gives a high-pitched laugh. “I’m not Eddie!! I’m Libby!!”
“She’s Libby!” June chimes in.
“I know, I’m just teasing you.” I ruffle Libby’s silky-soft hair and then lead her away from the table. Glancing back, I see Matt sliding closer to June and whispering something that makes her giggle. His rugged smile as he talks to his little girl makes my heart flip over in my chest.
In the ladies’ room I make sure that Libby washes her hands after she comes out of the stall. When she shuts off the water, I’m ready with a paper towel, which she grabs and swipes across her little hands.
An elderly woman smiles at me just as Libby hands back her used towel. “Your daughter is gorgeous,” she says, a smile on her wrinkled face.
The compliment catches me completely off guard. My eyes drop to Libby’s pale eyes as I try to see what the woman saw. It isn’t often since my divorce that I allow myself to think about having a family of my own. That way lies the abyss. So I take a breath and try to compose a polite explanation. But before I can form the words, “I’m just a family friend,” Libby darts toward the ladies’ room door. And since I don’t want to lose sight of Matt’s daughter in the touristy melee, I only get out “thank you” before I chase after her.
After the tower trip, we spend another hour walking past all the department store windows that have been specially decorated for the Christmas holiday. The girls squeal over the glitzy displays, and Matt slips his hand into mine.
Heaven.
So when he asks me to come upstairs with them and stay for an early dinner, I say yes even though I should say no.
“Can I help?” I ask when he goes into the kitchen.
“Nope!” he says cheerfully. There’s a slow cooker on his countertop, and I watch him pick up an oven mitt to lift the lid. “It’s already done.”
After petting Rufus hello, I peek into the pot. “Chili? It smells great.”
“My mother’s recipe,” he says, giving it a stir. “And also gluten free.” He takes a piece of paper out of his back pocket, unfolds it and smooths it onto the counter. “Matthew—” it begins. Many paragraphs follow in a small font. His finger skims down the page until he reaches a bright yellow section called DISALLOWED FOODS. “Yay. Rice is still legal. I’ll make some rice on the side.”
“It’s still…what?”
He makes a face. “Kara has a hundred rules, and I try to break as few as possible.”
“This letter is, like, her permanent instruction manual?”
He laughs, but the sound is bitter. “That’s just for today. I get a new, updated manual on every visit. She didn’t used to print them out and highlight passages, though. So that’s new.”
I literally bite my tongue to keep from making a comment. Bashing the ex-wife is not something I want to do. But I just spent several hours with Matt and his kids, and he made it all look easy.
After he walks the dog for a few minutes, the girls disappear into their room with Rufus, and I sit at a counter stool with a beer, watching my hot man make rice. My big contribution to this meal is to put napkins and silverware on his table and pour milk into two plastic cups with handles.
“Half full,” he cautions. “There are frequent spills.”
“Gotcha.”
“Rufus loves it when the girls are here.”