Page 95 of Summer with the Single Dad

Twisting her fingers in her lap, she glanced up at him beneath her lashes.

First things first. He reached forward, gripped her by the back of the neck and kissed her.

She hesitated at first, but then melted into him, wriggling sexily in his arms. He kissed her harder, parting her lips with his tongue and exploring. Desperate for an unending amount of her. For all of her. Or whatever she was willing to give.

Sure, when Aya mentioned he and Justine getting married he’d shrugged it off and dismissed it, but he’d by lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind a time or two in the last week. Given how much the girls were taken with her. How much he was taken with her. It was a perfect fit, even if it was new and riddled with so much of her self-doubt and guilt.

That was all still raw.

She would come through it on the other side. He knew she would.

She was strong and brilliant and so incredibly disciplined. She would come through.

Finally, after minutes ticked by of them just making out on the couch, she gripped his wrist where his hand still cupped the back of her neck, and pulled away.

Her brown eyes were glazed over and her lips were so red and plump he just wanted to dive back in and taste them all over again. “You came here to talk,” she said slightly breathless.

He nodded. “I did. But I needed to do that first. I needed you to know that …”

“You’re going to host the wedding.” Her gaze dropped to her lap.

“Don’t you want us to milk those assholes for every penny?” He reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. “They’ll get married regardless, whether we host it here or not. But if we host it here, we get their money. The cabin gets fixed. We can buy new, needed equipment. My brothers and I can actually pay ourselves a decent monthly wage for once.”

Her eyes shot up to his. “You’re not paying yourselves?”

“Not enough,” he said simply. “Money is tight right now. COVID-19 hit us hard as we tried to take care of our staff. And my brothers keep buying expensive shit without talking to me first. But the money from the wedding would cover the cost of the cabin repairs and more.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. “Can I ask what you consider a reasonable, yet also stick-it-to-them price? Or is that crass?”

A half-smile curled his face. “Because it’s last minute and they want the cabin for five days, we’d have to shut down the restaurant for the entire day—which is Saturday and our biggest money-making day—we’re leaning toward twenty-five to thirty. They want food, an open bar, signature cocktails. They even want Wyatt to bake the cake.”

“Is he a pastry chef?”

“No, but Burke started out as a pastry chef, so he’s going to do it. The more we can keep in-house and charge them for the better.”

“Have you sent this quote to them yet?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I was going type up the proposal tonight or tomorrow.”

She exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not an unreasonable monster. And I can’t tell you what to do. I also can’t expect you to show me—a batcrap crazy person with insane mood swings—loyalty over your brothers, business, and family.”

His smile curled up on the other side now, too. “You’re not batcrap crazy.”

She snorted. “But I do have insane mood swings.”

“You said it, not me.”

“When do they want to have the wedding?”

“Three weeks.”

Her eyes bugged out, then she dropped her gaze to their intertwined hands and shook her head. “Entitled bastards.”

“What kind of a doctor is Tad?”

Also, Tad was a terrible name.

“Neurosurgeon. His full name is Thadeus Alastair Xavier DuPonte.”

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