Firefighter Daddy (11 page)

True. And he very much regretted his mother’s untimely arrival and the missed opportunity. He glanced at his watch and plucked a long blond hair from the strap. “It’s getting late.”

She leaned close and put her hands on his shoulders again. “It’s not
too
late.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, full on the mouth, a lingering closed-mouth kiss that was both encouraging and a little disturbing.

Before he could respond, she backed away and smiled up at him. “Sleep well.”

That was unlikely.

He went to bed, wishing like hell he could go upstairs and take her into his arms. He ached for her. Not the usual physical ache a man felt for a woman, although he’d been feeling plenty of that. This was the kind of ache that started deep inside his chest and slowly filled it up until he had trouble breathing. He didn’t just want to make love to her, although God knew he wanted to.

There. He’d admitted it, at least to himself.

What he really wanted, craved desperately, was to be with her
after
they’d made love. It had been more than a year since he’d experienced that kind of intimacy, that deep, personal connection with another human being that could only be achieved after physical and mutual satisfaction. And he wanted it badly.

Chapter Eight

Rory stretched and gazed up at the skylight. Although it was still early, the sky was starting to lighten and seemed to promise a beautiful day. She had crawled into bed last night expecting to toss and turn and relive the kiss, over and over again. Instead, sleep had been deep and satisfying. Maybe she needed to get kissed more often.

You
kissed
him
.

That was true. She had. She had also flirted with him. Rather shamelessly, she had to admit. He was heart-stoppingly attractive, and it was pretty clear that he was just as attracted to her, but his response had been tentative. After her horrendous experience with Dean, tentative was good. Women must throw themselves at Mitch all the time, and yet he wasn’t quick to reciprocate. That was definitely a point in his favor.

She snuggled under the covers and indulged in a slow-motion replay of last night’s action. His lips might have been tentative, but those hands could work some serious magic. His fingers on her shoulders and neck, warming her skin…oh, my. He would be very good at making a woman feel oh-so-glad to be a woman. It would have been nice if he’d had a chance to spread some of that warmth around before Betsy had interrupted them.

Maybe she’d sworn off men for too long. How long had it been? Too long, obviously.

Not that there’d ever been a chance that her relationship with Dean was a forever kind of thing. He had been fun and charming, with a smooth working-his-way-up-the-corporate-ladder look about him, and he certainly knew his way around the bedroom. Of course, at the time, she hadn’t realized just how extensive his experience had been.

Since then she’d had a few casual dinner dates, but not until last night had she let down her guard enough to take things to the next level. The next level being nothing more than a kiss, she reminded herself, and it hadn’t been a date. Just a pleasant encounter between friends. Except she and Mitch weren’t friends. They didn’t even know each other, yet the sexual energy that sizzled between them was miles past friendly.

Mitch was completely different from Dean, or any other man she had dated. He was the strong, silent type who kept his emotions well in check. His wife’s death had affected him profoundly, and according to Miranda, he found it difficult to talk about her, so although he wasn’t married, he might as well be.

Her cell phone startled her out of the daydream. “Nicola, you had better not be calling me at this hour,” she said, stumbling out of bed and grabbing her phone off the kitchen table. “Everything’s under control and there will be no surprises. Not at the shower, and especially not on Jess’s feet.”

The call wasn’t from Nic. It was Rory’s father.

“Hi, Dad. How’s the book tour going?”

“Exhausting, but good. I’ll be glad to get home.”

“Where are you now?”

“Dallas. Then Pittsburgh tomorrow and Boston on Wednesday. We’ll be back in Manhattan on Thursday.”

Talk about a brutal schedule. “How’s Dayzee?”

He hesitated. “She seems fine,” he said finally.

Oh, Dad,
she thought.
Here we go again. Have you considered dating someone who’s…oh, I don’t know…your own age?
She didn’t say it, though, and it’s not like he hadn’t heard it before. “She’ll probably be glad to get home, too.”

“Sorry we didn’t get to spend much time together when I was in San Francisco, but it was good to see you.”

“You, too.” Rory climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up under her chin. Buick blinked sleepily from his usual spot at the foot of her bed.

“How’s school?” he asked.

“I love teaching here. It feels as though I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

“You were happy growing up in Mendocino, though, weren’t you?”

It seemed like an odd question, and she didn’t answer right away.

“Rory? Are you still there?”

“I’m here. Yes, I loved it up there, still do, but I prefer the city and this really feels like home.”

“Glad to hear it. How’s Mitch and that little girl of his?”

An even odder question. “Fine,” she said cautiously. “Why do you ask?”

“He’s a good man. Good father, too.”

This was getting downright weird. Surely her father wasn’t suggesting… Was he?

“I appreciate your observations, Dad, but I just met him and I don’t think we have much in common.”
Ha. You are such a liar. Before the phone rang, you were lying here thinking pretty much the same thing
.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the last time we talked on the phone, that your mother and I were terrible role models in the getting-and-staying-married department.”

“I didn’t mean for you to take it so seriously.”

“I didn’t. Not until I saw you with Mitch and his daughter.”

Huh? Exactly what had he seen?

“The two of you seem pretty interested in each other.”

“Okay, who are you and where did you find my father’s cell phone?”

Even his laughter sounded strangely serious. “I wish I could go back and redo things with your mother, set a proper example for you.”

Rory didn’t know what to say.

“You know I love your mother, right? Always have, always will. We just can’t be together.”

“Dad, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does, Rory. God knows we’ve tried.”

“If you love her that much, then what about all the girlfriends you’ve had since you got divorced?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Dad, this is me you’re talking to. Your daughter. How could that be ‘obvious’?”

“I knew I’d never find another woman like your mother, so I’ve never tried.”

Sam Borland’s self-psychoanalysis actually made sense. Sort of. “You’ve dated a string of woman half your age with whom you have nothing in common because you’re still in love with Mom?”

“It’s taken me a while to figure it out, but yeah, that seems to be what I’ve been doing.”

“And exactly when did you figure this out?”

“At the art gallery.”

Talk about being blindsided. “Have you shared this with her?”

“Some things are best left alone.”

“She deserves to hear this, Dad.” And part of her—the inner-little-girl part—wanted him to tell her mother because that part of her had always secretly hoped her parents would find happiness together.

“I’m telling you this because I don’t want my mistakes to affect your happiness, not to get your hopes up.”

So after all these years, her hopes had been that obvious? “I still think you should tell her.”

“I’ll think about it. For now, though, can we keep this between us?”

“Of course.” There were lots of things she could discuss openly with her mother, but this was not one of them.

“And you’ll give Mitch a chance?” She could tell he was smiling when he asked that.

“Okay, now you’re pushing your luck.”

They both laughed, and he sounded as relieved as she was to change the subject.

“What are you doing today?” he asked.

“Shoe-shopping with Jess. She needs something to wear to Nic’s wedding.”

“That sounds like fun.”

She groaned. “Easy for you to say. You’ve never had to wrestle her out of her sneakers and into a pair of heels.”

Her father chuckled. “How is Jess?” He liked all of her friends, but he’d always had a real soft spot for Jess—said she reminded him of the son he’d never had. If anyone else said that, tomboy Jess would deck them, but when it came to Rory’s dad, she’d often said he was like the father she’d always wished she’d had.

“She’s the same as ever. Struggling to make ends meet and refusing to let anyone give her a hand.”

“Say hi to her for me.”

“I will.”

“Looks like our cab is here, sugar. I have to run.”

“Thanks for calling, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Rory.” And then he was gone.

She disconnected and dropped the phone onto the bed beside her, then stretched her arms overhead and yawned. Buick rolled onto his side and did the same. “Good morning, lazy-bones,” she said to him. “This is going to be a good day.” He lay there motionless, as if in silent agreement.

She was lounging in bed, watching the sky lighten while mulling over her father’s bombshell, when she heard voices below. Miranda’s, then Mitch’s. Last night she’d figured out that his bedroom must be at the front of the house, which meant it was right below hers.

She listened closely and heard Miranda’s laughter. Mitch was a good father and a good man, but so was her father. If Sam’s unexpected confession was intended to make her look at life a little differently, it was working. She wasn’t ready to rush into anything, but the thought of exploring a relationship, maybe even one with Mitch, was not such a bad idea. She rolled over and crawled out of bed. Shoe-shopping with Jess was a whole other matter.

M
IRANDA BURST INTO THE
front foyer ahead of her father just as Rory was coming downstairs.

“Miss Sunshine! Me and my dad are going to the school so I can practice hopscotching.” Miranda was dressed in a pair of jeans with faded knees, pink sneakers and a light blue jacket with too-short sleeves, and her curls had been gathered into two adorable pigtails. Rory wondered if Mitch had done her hair.

He waited while she and Miranda went down the steps to the sidewalk, then followed them.

“That sounds like a fun way to spend a Saturday morning. You can teach your dad how to play hopscotch, too.”

She grinned at him. He didn’t smile back. He looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept well, and he seemed even more withdrawn than usual. Surely not because of last night?

“Watch this.” Miranda demonstrated her hopscotch jumps up the sidewalk, spun around in mid-jump, and hopped back down. “Do you wanna come with us?”

Yes, she did. “Sounds like fun, but a friend and I are going shopping.”

The little girl stopped jumping. “Can I come up and play with Buick when you get back?”

“Miranda, you can’t invite yourself to someone else’s house.”

“But it’s our house, too.”

Rory laughed and tweaked one of Miranda’s pigtails. “Have fun at the school,” she said, keeping her gaze connected with Mitch’s. “And I meant what I said about showing your dad how to hopscotch. Even grown-ups need to have some fun once in a while.”

He didn’t exactly smile, but the creases at the corners of his mouth deepened a little.

All right,
she thought.
That’s more like it.
As she walked around the front of her van, she watched them walk hand-in-hand up the hill to Haight Street. Miranda’s free hand swung back and forth, and Rory found herself wishing she was holding it.

What are you thinking?

Mitch glanced over his shoulder. She gave him a finger wave, and he finally smiled for real.

Oh, yeah. She was thinking the same thing he was thinking.

She unlocked the door and tossed her bag on Vanna’s passenger seat as she climbed behind the wheel.

The van sputtered to life. She slipped it into gear, released the hand brake and checked the side mirror just in time to see Mitch and his daughter disappear around the corner. As she pulled away from the curb, shopping for shoes suddenly seemed like an excellent idea. Jess would find suitable shoes to wear to the wedding if it killed her. Rory would find a pair, too. The kind of shoes that would really make Mitch smile when she found the right opportunity to wear them.

R
ORY PUSHED THE BUZZER
at the front door of Jess’s apartment building. Her friend lived in the South of Market area, about six blocks from The Whiskey Sour. The bar was in the part of SoMa that was undergoing rejuvenation. Her apartment was not.

“Hang on. I’ll be right down.”

“No way,” Rory said. “I’m coming up.”

“Why do you want to come up? We’re going shopping. Besides, my place is a mess.”

“You’re wasting time. Let me in.”

“If you’re in such a hurry, we should get going.”

“Jess—” Rory knew her well enough to know she was likely wearing a baggy shirt and an old pair of jeans.

“Fine.” The abrupt release of the lock on the front door matched the clipped tone of Jess’s voice on the intercom.

Rory smiled as she pushed the door open and dashed up one flight of stairs to the second floor. She tapped on her friend’s door, and it flew open.

The place was as neat as a pin, but the same couldn’t be said for Jess. She had on her trademark discount-store jeans, a yellow T-shirt and a man’s once-white dress shirt, worn jacket-style with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

“I knew it,” Rory said.

“What?”

“You can’t try on wedding shoes when you’re dressed for a game of touch football.”

“I dress like this all the time.”

“I know.”

“To each her own. Not everyone has a closet full of funky clothes.”

Rory laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment, but you know that kind of sweet talk won’t work on me.” She assessed her friend’s worn sneakers and the wrinkled shirt. “You need a pair of shoes to go with a bridesmaid dress, not for schlepping around behind the bar.”

“It’s one night. What difference does it make?”

If one approach didn’t work, try another, or so her father always said. Too bad he was better at dishing out advice than he was at following it. “Think of it this way,” Rory said. “It could be good for business.”

Jess’s eyes narrowed, but she relaxed her hands-on-hips stance. “How’s that?”

“Think of all the people who’ll be at the reception. Other business owners, potential customers. It’ll be a good opportunity to—” She stopped herself before she said
schmooze.
Jess was
so
not a schmoozer. “To talk to other business people, have them take you seriously, get some ideas on how to build a clientele.”

“And I need shoes for that?”

“If you want to kick butt, you need to dress for success. Now go put on a pair of sandals and a skirt. You do own a skirt?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t worn it in a couple of years. It might not fit.”

It? She shouldn’t be surprised that Jess’s wardrobe included only one skirt. Fortunately, in all the years she’d known her, Jess’s weight hadn’t fluctuated more than a few ounces. “Go put it on. We won’t recognize the perfect shoes with blue jeans bunched around your ankles.”