Your Forever Love (The Bennett Family 3)

“I haven’t even started on the cobwebs. See you on Monday.” He gives me a quick nod before returning to his daughter, leaving me breathless and smiling. Going back to my seat, I help myself to a cookie, stealing glances at Eric. That man is eye candy. I can’t seem to look away from him, just as I can’t seem to stop myself from putting yet another cookie on my plate.

At least eye candy has zero calories.

Chapter Two

Eric

“Dad,” Julie says on Monday, as we eat our breakfast. “I want to wear lipstick.”

I choke on my toast, looking at her across the table. “Wh—at?”

“I want a lipstick.”

“You’re too young.”

She folds her arms over her chest, already taking her fighting stance. My daughter is lovely, but when she puts her mind to something she’s more stubborn than I am. Folding her arms is the first step, frowning the second. By that time, I usually cower to her demands, but I will stand firm on this.

“Dad, I’m twelve.”

“I allow you to wear lip gloss occasionally, but you’re still too young to wear lipstick.” Yeah, I know the difference between the two. Comes with the territory of being a single father.

“Says who?”

“I do.”

“Well, you’re not a girl. You don’t understand.” She sighs dramatically. “I want red lipstick.”

“Finish your sandwich, Julie.”

She verbalized one of my biggest fears: that she needs a feminine presence. I’ve always known this, but that doesn’t make hearing her say it out loud any easier.

It took me a long time to piece myself together after Sarah died. After the worst was over, and at the encouragement of friends and family, I started dating. It turned out to be a bad move. Women feigned to be interested in Julie in order to get a second date, so I stopped. Until my daughter turns eighteen, she will be my priority. It’s just the two of us, and that’s okay most of the time. Until she starts asking me about wearing lipstick. At twelve years old. Dealing with boyfriends will be a bloodbath.

“I’m done,” Julie ann

ounces when her plate is empty. “We can go.”

“Are you sure you want to come to the office with me? I can ask Ms. Blackwell to spend the day with you.”

Julie has two permanent nannies back in Boston, Ms. Smith and Ms. Blackwell, the latter who agreed to come with us from Boston to San Francisco over the summer. Julie isn’t thrilled about having round-the-clock nannies, but she understands it’s necessary.

“No, I want to see your office. It’s funny to watch you scare people.”

“I want them to do their job. I don’t scare them intentionally.”

“That’s the funniest part.”

“Okay, let’s go. Did you put your inhaler in your backpack?”

Julie nods, slinging the straps of her backpack over her shoulder. My daughter is a fighter. After the accident, I brought in the best doctors to treat her. Even so, they couldn’t perform miracles. She had sustained heavy injuries to her left leg and hip, as well as the left lung. Despite their best efforts, my baby will always walk with a limp and have to carry her inhaler with her. She rarely has respiratory attacks—mostly when she’s doing physical exertion—but she must carry it with her as a precaution.

The limp and the inhaler were a magnet for bullies, which is why she’s changed four schools up until now, and she finally seems to be making friends there.

“I like this house, Dad,” Julie comments as we walk out the front door.

“Glad you do.”

It’s a one-story with a garden and a pool in the heart of San Francisco. The house is simple, yet elegant. The exterior walls are painted in a light green, and white shutters are on the windows.