The Daddy Wish. Brenda Harlen
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not to resent the fact that Jefferson and his new wife had a three-bedroom raised ranch on a cute little court in Charisma’s Westdale neighborhood. She’d always wanted her son to have a backyard in which he could run and play, and now he did. She just wished it was something she’d been able to give to him every day and not every other weekend when he was with his father.
But she was grateful that they had a nice two-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor of a well-maintained building with a park across the street. The rent wasn’t cheap, but after she paid the bills each month, she was able to put aside a small amount of money into a vacation fund. Last summer, they’d gone to Washington, DC. This year, she intended to take him camping—to give her city boy a taste of the outdoors. She had some concerns as to whether or not he’d be able to survive a whole week without television or video games, but she wanted to try.
However, it was only January now, which meant she didn’t have to determine their summer plans just yet. In the interim, she should cherish this time on her own: forty-eight hours in which to do whatever she wanted. She could lounge around in her pj’s and eat popcorn for dinner while she watched TV if she wanted. She didn’t have to prepare meals for anyone else or pick up dirty socks that missed the hamper in the bathroom or pull up the covers on a bed that had been left unmade.
But the sad reality was that she had no life outside of work and her son. She could go to the bookstore and lose herself in a good story for a few hours, but lately even her favorite romance novels had left her feeling more depressed than inspired.
She wanted to believe in love and happy-ever-after, but real life hadn’t given her much hope in that direction. And if she let herself give in to her desire for Nathan Garrett, she was more likely to end up unemployed than marrying the boss, and she had no intention of jeopardizing her job for a hot fling with a man who probably wouldn’t remember her name the next day.
Instead, she called her friend Chelsea, thinking that they might be able to catch a movie. As it turned out, her friend was working, but she convinced Allison to come in to the Bar Down for a bite to eat. The sports bar was usually hopping on weekends, so she didn’t think they’d have much time to talk, but her growling stomach and the promise of spinach dip were a stronger lure even than her friend’s company.
To her surprise, there were only a handful of tables in use, and more of the seats at the bar were vacant than occupied.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so quiet in here on a Friday night,” Allison remarked.
Chelsea set a glass of pinot noir on a paper coaster in front of her friend. “It might pick up a little bit later, but the first weekend after the holidays is always slow. Most people are dragging after their first week back at work—or too worried about paying their credit card bills—to want to go out.”
“I can understand that,” Allison acknowledged.
“And I’m guessing the only reason you’re here is that it’s Dylan’s weekend with his dad.”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I’ve got a thousand things to do at home—with a thousand loads of laundry being at the top of the list—but it just felt too quiet tonight.”
“Did you come in here to see me or in search of some male companionship?”
Allison’s eye roll was the only response she was going to give to that question.
Her friend sighed. “When was the last time you went out on a date—the night Dylan was conceived?”
“I date,” she said.
Chelsea’s brows lifted.
“I do. I even let you set me up on that blind date with your cousin Ivan not too long ago.”
“Evan,” her friend corrected. “And that was more than three years ago.”
“It was not.”
“It was,” Chelsea insisted. “Because he didn’t meet Wendy until a few months after that, and they just celebrated their second wedding anniversary.”
“Oh.” She picked up her glass, sipped. “It really didn’t seem like it was that long ago.”
“You’re a fabulous mother, but you’re also a young and sexy woman hiding behind your responsibilities to your son. There should be more to your life.”
“I don’t have time for anything more.”
“You have to make time,” her friend insisted. “To get out and meet new people.”
“Why can’t I just hang out with the people I already know?”
Chelsea sighed. “How long has it been since you’ve had sex? No—” She shook her head. “Forget that. How long has it been since you’ve even kissed a guy?”
Sex was, admittedly, a distant and foggy memory. But every detail of that kiss under the mistletoe was still seared into her brain despite all of her efforts to forget about it, tempting her with the unspoken promise of so much more.
“Oh. My. God.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You’ve been holding out on me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mentioned the word kiss and your eyes got this totally dreamy look and your cheeks actually flushed.”
Allison’s cheeks burned hotter. “It really wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” her friend decided. “When? Where? And who?”
Because she knew Chelsea wouldn’t be dissuaded, she answered her questions in order. “Before Christmas, at a party. It was just one kiss, and no way am I telling you who.”
“Before Christmas? And I’m only hearing about this now?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Which was a big fat lie, but she mentally crossed her fingers in the hope that her friend might believe it.
“Just one kiss?”
She nodded.
“Honey, if you’re still blushing over one kiss more than three weeks later, it isn’t just a big deal, it must have been one helluva kiss.”
“I haven’t been kissed like that in...” Allison tried to think back to a time when another man had touched her the way Nathan had touched her, kissed her as if he wanted nothing more than to go on kissing her, and her mind came up blank “...ever.”
“Ty—” Chelsea called out to the man working the other end of the bar. “Can you cover for me for a few minutes?”
He winked at her. “Your wish is my command.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes as she came around to the other side of the bar and slid onto the empty stool beside her friend, so they could talk without their conversation being overheard.
“Tell me about your holidays,” Allison suggested, hoping to redirect her friend’s focus.
Chelsea shook her head. “Uh-uh. This is about you, not me.”
“But your life is so much interesting.”
“Not this time.”
Allison traced the base of her wineglass with a fingertip. “It really was just one kiss, and it’s not going any further than that.”
“Why not?” her friend demanded.
“Because it was the office Christmas party.”
“It was someone you work with?”
She nodded.
“How closely?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.”
“Too