And he skids to a stop so quickly that I know, without a doubt, this man is a power on the ice.
His dark eyes fix on mine, and my heart thuds hard against my ribs.
“Dad!”
A jerk, his gaze sliding to Chloe.
“This is Finn,” she says, bouncing from foot to foot, her hair a total disaster. “She’s got something in her bag for me.”
Eyes drifting back to me.
Well, that sounds…awkward.
Or maybe suspicious.
Still, I stick my hand out, smile. “Hi. Like Chloe said, I’m Finn?—”
“It’s short for Finley,” Chloe interjects and my smile widens.
His face softens as he shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Finn Finley.” A twitch of his lips. “Sorry about nearly running you over. Someone”—a glance at Chloe—“isn’t supposed to go out front without a grownup, right?”
Chloe’s guilty gaze drops to her feet. “Right.”
“Should we go inside?” he says quietly. “Maybe you can show Finn where we keep the good snacks.”
Chloe’s head pops up, eyes full of excitement instead of remorse now. “Snacks!” she shouts and takes off by us, sprinting into the house as fast as her little legs can take her.
I giggle and when I look back, he’s watching me again.
Nerves nip at my toes and my pulse speeds through my veins.
Because it’s a very parental look he’s tossing my direction, full of judgment and consideration and…judgment.
Am I trustworthy? Will I get along with his daughter? Am I responsible enough to watch her when he’s out of town?
Will I be…good enough?
Certainly, I’m not for my own parents.
But for the one single father currently standing in front of me?
I guess that’s yet to be determined.
He steps back and gestures for me to come in.
I follow him through the brightly lit hallway that opens quickly up into a family room and kitchen. Chloe has the refrigerator door open and is rustling inside, her little face screwed up again as she strains for something just out of reach.
“Here,” I say, quickly crossing the space and grabbing the carton of milk before it can tumble to the ground. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yup,” she tells me, already turning her focus to one of the drawers, extracting an apple.
“Yum,” I say as she carries it over to a kid-sized step stool, climbs up, and places it on a cutting board. Then she reaches for a knife.
Oh, God.
Blood is going to be drawn within the first two minutes of my first day.
Well, that’s if I even get the job.
