Home At Last. Deborah Raney
Shayla didn’t blanch. “Daddy and I have tried to keep things stable in her life.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean—”
She waved him off. “I know. It’s an awkward situation. People don’t know what to say.”
“It’s not that.” He hesitated and hoped he’d managed to look sheepish. “Well, I guess it is that.” He held up a hand. “I’m really not meaning to be nosy. I just wondered.”
“She’s probably going to be part of our lives—my dad’s and mine—for a long time. I don’t blame you if that scares you off. You wouldn’t be the first.”
Did it scare him? If he was honest, yes. A little. He’d had enough experience with nieces and nephews that he wasn’t uncomfortable around kids. He wanted kids of his own someday. He hadn’t really considered that he might get them “ready-made.” He released a sigh. “I’m still thinking about that, I guess. Just trying to be honest.”
“I get that.”
Except he wanted to ask her out again. He knew that. “Do I have to decide before you’ll go out with me again? I’d really like to ask you out again.” He was diving into the deep end. Sink or swim.
She tilted her head in that winsome way she had. “I don’t suppose you’d be content to just be a friend for a while?”
“Is this your way of saying you like me but . . . not in that way?” The disappointment hurt more than he expected.
But her smile gave him quick relief. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m saying—” She pushed her chair back from the table and grabbed a bar rag from the bakery counter. She rubbed it in circles on the table until Link thought the finish might come off. Finally, she straightened and looked at him hard, a nervous half-grin on her lips. “Why are we having this conversation? Tonight was only our first date. Can’t we just take it one step at a time?”
He shrugged. “Hey, that’s all I’m asking for—the next step. Will you go out with me next week?”
She scrubbed the table with a vengeance. “Let me see if I can find a sitter for Portia. Are you thinking Sunday night again?”
“You can bring her if you want.”
“You don’t understand. If we take her out with us again”—she motioned between them—“then it’s a ‘thing’ with her. And if we never see you again after that . . .”
“Okay. I get that. You’ll let me know? If you can get a sitter?”
“Can I text you?”
He shrugged. “Sure. You have my number?”
She nodded.
He rose. “How about next Saturday night? Does that work for you?”
“Unless you want to do breakfast. Like really early breakfast.”
“Saturday?”
“Any day.”
He grinned. “I figured you got free breakfast here.” He eyed the case of pastries. “Man, if I lived here, I’d never eat anywhere else.”
“Yeah, and you’d weigh four hundred pounds.”
“At least.” He wanted to see her again. Soon. “How about I’ll come by some day this week and we’ll figure out a time then.”
“It’s a free country.” But her smile said she wouldn’t mind if he did.
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