If he only knew how disinterested some fathers were in their daughter’s lives. Skylar had been lucky. She always had a dad close by, showing her how to hook bait on a line but also up for combing her dolly’s hair if that’s what was on the agenda. But some girls were simply ignored. “I think you’re already doing a great job.”
“I can always do better.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. The most important thing is that you love her, and it’s clear you do.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Her cheeks heated. “Well…you’re welcome.”
He didn’t move and she tried her best to patiently wait and ignore the strawberry juice slipping down her thumb.
“I think you’re the best choice I’ve made for my daughter in a long time.”
His words struck a chord deep within her heart and her gaze lowered. “Thank you.”
The silence expanded, tightening the energy around them like a rubber band she feared might snap. Her stomach swooped and she held her breath as his feet moved closer. When his hand slowly lifted, her heart beat wildly and her knees shook. “Mr. Buchanan—”
“Let me help you with this.” He relieved her of the fruit salad cups and pushed open the door, holding it with his body so she could slip by.
Okay, totally misread the situation.
Her face flamed as she slipped by him, her back slightly brushing his front—one hundred percent by accident—but she swore she heard his breath catch in a masculine sort of grunt.
What was a grunt? She wasn’t versed in grunting. Had she misread him? She was picking up all sorts of mixed signals.
Job. This was her job. She was harboring completely inappropriate thoughts. Head out of the gutter, Marcelli!
Addison skipped back to the table and bounced into her chair. “All clean!” she announced holding out her freshly washed hands.
Mr. Buchanan set the fruit cups on the table and Addison gasped.
“Daddy, we made the whipped cream with scratch!”
“From scratch,” Skylar corrected.
“It looks amazing!” He set out three spoons and glanced over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Skylar bustled to the table and sat down rougher than intended, jostling the glasses. “Sorry.”
He grinned. “This looks delicious. What did you put in here, Addy?”
“We put cantaloupe, blueberries, strawberries…” As she listed all the fruit, Skylar studied him. It was a perfect moment until his cell phone rang.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I have to take this.” He lifted the phone to his ear. “Erin?” The mumbled voice on the other end spoke and he chuckled. “And that’s why I need you. Thanks for reminding me.”
Skylar slipped into the kitchen and started on the rest of the dishes. Addison helped, claiming that her dad was still on the phone about work.
Once they had the kitchen returned to its usual order, she drew a bath for Addison, adding a little lavender to settle her. After the bath, Skylar combed out her hair and braided it.
They returned to the den once Addison was buffed to a shine and in her ruffled nightgown ready for bed. Mr. Buchanan blinked in surprise as if he hardly recognized his own daughter. “Look at you!”
Addison raced over to him and flung her body against his in a gush of giggles and hugs. Skylar smiled and left them alone for a bit, so they could have some time together.
At bedtime, she lured Addison upstairs with the promise of another story. Tucked in and listening attentively, her heavy, brown eyes watched the pages turn as Skylar read.
A floorboard creaked and Skylar sensed they had an audience, which distracted her. Sure enough, Mr. Buchanan observed them from the door but didn’t enter or interrupt.
At the end of the story, Skylar brushed a hand over Addison’s hair and wished her sweet dreams. Only then, did Mr. Buchanan enter the room to kiss his daughter goodnight.
Skylar waited in the hall as he quietly backed out of the room and shut the door.
“You really have a gift with children.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated. “Was she good for you, today? I know she can be challenging at times.”
She could, but so could every four-year-old. “She was an angel.”
He chuckled. “I know my daughter, Skylar. It’s okay to tell me the truth.”
“Mr. Buchanan, she was perfect. I’d tell you if there were any issues.”
“Rhett.”
She bit her lip. It was the second time he reminded her to use his first name, but Erin had adamantly referred to him as Mr. Buchanan when addressing Skylar. Still, he was her boss, not Erin. “Rhett.” She couldn’t survive another awkward silence. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to head home. I still have to pack and—”
“Of course.” He took a wide step back and averted his stare to the other end of the hall. “I hope we didn’t detain you.”
“Oh no, dinner was nice, and I intended to help get her to bed. That’s my job, after all.” It was, wasn’t it? She really wasn’t clear about when she should step in and when she should back off when Rhett was around.