The Single Dad (The Dalton Brothers 3)

“Yes!”

And they were, so I plated them and held her hand while she stepped off the stool. “How about you go grab your dad’s coffee cup, so we can give him a refill? And then we’ll sit down to eat.”

“Okay!”

I set the pancakes on the table, placed the potatoes and bacon on a small platter, and added silverware and napkins to the place mats. When Everly returned with Ford’s mug, I made him another cup and one for myself, water for the little one, and grabbed syrup and ketchup and butter from the fridge.

Ford was still on his phone—working, I assumed. But as I moved around the kitchen, I still felt his eyes on me. With the help from my hat, I was able to mostly hide mine. That didn’t stop the tightness in my chest every time I neared where he was sitting, nor did it stop the flutters that seemed to be constant whenever I was in his presence.

After being here for weeks, I would have thought they would have died down.

But they were getting worse.

Stronger.

Moving even faster through my body.

And this time, when I circled the kitchen, making sure everything was the way I wanted it, my lungs were having a hard time taking in air.

I knew why.

I’d gotten a whiff of his cologne.

There was something about that scent that brought me back to the nights we’d spent together, the memories pouring in.

Oh God.

“Syd, I want blueberries on my pancakes.”

Fruit.

Pancakes.

What am I even doing right now?

“Everly,” Ford said with a warning, “use your manners.”

“Please,” she added.

I picked up the strawberry and blueberry containers from the refrigerator and set those on the table before I announced, “We’re ready. I hope everyone’s hungry.”

“I am!” Eve shouted.

“Me too,” I agreed, and I helped Everly get situated in her seat, taking the spot directly beside her.

Ford was the last to join, sitting at the head.

“Do you need anything?” I asked him.

He lifted the mug I had refilled and said, “Thank you for this.” He paused. “This breakfast looks amazing.”

“Yummy for my tummy,” Everly sang as she chewed a piece of bacon.

“Even better than Craig’s,” Ford added.

I froze, my knife deep in the butter, to gaze up at Ford. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true.”

The intensity in which he looked at me was like a fierce grip. One that moved around my throat. One that shackled both hands and feet.

There were too many tingles.

Too many sensations.

“Daddy, we’re going hiking today.”

Our eyes were still locked as he said, “Oh yeah?”

“Come with us.”

My back straightened as the words left Everly’s mouth, and I immediately looked down, pulling my knife out and spreading the butter over the pancake. It seemed far too sweet for me this morning, so I focused on the potatoes. I tried lifting them off the plate, but my stomach wasn’t ready.

I couldn’t eat.

I wasn’t even hungry anymore—at least, not for food.

“Come with you,” he said, as though he was debating.

I sucked in my breath, moving the bacon to the other side, trying to act busy.

“But, baby, I have to work today.”

“Tell Papa you have a bellyache.”

He laughed. “Papa’s not my boss.”

I tried to imagine what a morning of hiking with Ford would feel like. The two of us on the trail, Everly several paces ahead. Sweat running down our faces. Sun hitting our eyes.

How we’d have to move close together when we passed other hikers on the narrow path.

His scent.

His hand on my lower back.

“Runyon Canyon?” he asked.

Since I didn’t hear Everly respond, I nodded.