This man… this man is truly teaching his daughter her worth. That she’s more than an adorable nose, chubby cheeks, and blue eyes. And that makes him all the more attractive to me.
Which is a very dangerous sentiment.
Phoenix is nine years my senior and a single dad. We’re at completely different phases of our lives. It would never work.
So I pick up Reece and smile at her very attractive father. “We’ll get out of your way so you can wash your face.”
In the living room with Reece on my hip, I wander around and look at the various family photos scattered about. The little one keeps up a running commentary on who everyone is.
“And this one is Uncle Helix. He’s Daddy’s twin. I stay at his house sometimes on Tuesdays, and we cook and swim and have so much fun. And that one is Uncle Remi. He lives in London, and I got to go there once. Have you ever been to London? It’s in England, and you have to fly on a plane to get there. Have you ever been on a plane, Jordie?”
I grin at her excitement. “I have been on a plane, but I’ve never been to London. Did you like it there?”
Her little bow-shaped lips curve up, showing off the dimples she shares with her father. “I liked seeing Uncle Remi, and I liked the scones at the bakery, but I didn’t really like the tea. Did you know apartments in England are called flats? But I don’t know why because there were stairs, and stairs aren’t flat.”
We continue until Phoenix returns and announces it’s time to eat.
“Are you sure you have enough?” I whisper, following him to the kitchen. “I know you didn’t expect me for dinner.”
“I made chili,” he says. “By law, when making chili in Texas, you must make enough for an army.” He flashes me a faux-apologetic smile. “I don’t make the rules, Jordie; I just follow them.”
The Hale kitchen is nothing less than I would have expected, massive, with high-end appliances, including a vibrant teal La Cornue range. I only recognize it because I saw a celebrity chef talking about the craftsmanship of La Cornue on TV once. It costs more than my truck is worth.
The countertops are a muted teal quartz with tiny gold flecks, and a large kitchen island with a double waterfall sink takes up the center of the space. I watch as father and daughter go about their mealtime prep routine. Phoenix gives Reece age-appropriate tasks, like getting the cheese from the refrigerator, that make her feel like she’s part of the process.
“We’re having Frito pies,” Reece announces as I grate the cheese. “You have to eat it in the bag because it tastes better that way.”
“I agree,” I tell her. “When I was little and used to go watch my brother play hockey, the arena served Frito pies in the bag. That was my favorite thing to eat there.”
Phoenix slices open individual bags of the corn chips, lengthwise, and we take turns adding our chili and cheese into our bags. Phoenix and I also add chopped onion to ours, but Reece declines, deeming onions “icky-poo-poo.”
Then we sit on the couch and eat our Frito pies, Reece in the middle of Phoenix and I while we watch the first part of the movie. During the second half, we take turns painting each other’s nails, minein bright rainbow, Reece’s in pastel rainbow, and Phoenix’s in a shocking pink color.
By the time the movie’s over, Reece’s head is tipped over against her dad’s shoulder, fast asleep. “I thoroughly enjoyed that,” I say as the credits roll.
“That’s what she said,” Phoenix replies cheekily, and I snort so loud I have to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from waking up the little one.
“You’re so bad,” I reply, and he flashes me a mischievous grin.
“That’snotwhat she said.”
I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness. “I guess I should get going so you can get Reece in bed.”
He gathers his daughter in his arms and stands. “I’d like you to stay. We still haven’t gone over your contracts. If it’s not too late for you.”
“No, it’s fine,” I admit.
“I’ll turn the AC to a non-arctic level so we can change back into regular clothes. You can use my room again.”
What else of yours can I use?my mind asks, and I’m a bit shocked at my internal brazenness. With heated cheeks, I simply nod, following him up the stairs. He goes into the room next to his while I dart into his bedroom to change back into my polo and shorts.
When I emerge, I stall in the doorway of what’s obviously Reece’s room. It’s decorated in a cute but stylish way, with a large pink-and-purple rug taking up most of the floor space. A small, heart-shaped lamp gives off a muted pink glow while Phoenix kneels beside his daughter’s bed. He’s changed her into a silky pink nightgown and is gently wiping her face with a cloth. The kid doesn’t even stir when her dad lifts her chubby hand and kisses the back of it, whispering something I can’t hear.
I’m moved almost to tears at the tender moment and quickly back away, traipsing silently downstairs.
Phoenix returns a few minutes later, now dressed in a ceil-blue T-shirt and gray athletic shorts that make me have to struggle to keep my gaze above the equator.
God, what is wrong with me?I seem to have strayed precariously intoho-bag territory around this man. He tosses a black Yale Law School sweatshirt at me, and I catch it easily.
