Page 2 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

“Do you think you can stand?” he asks, his baby blues filled with concern. “Should I call nine-one-one?”

Blowing out a breath, I force my gaze away from the chiseled jaw mere inches from mine, from the full lips uttering the kindest words, and focus on the fabric of his trousers. “You’re-you're going to ruin that suit.”

“That’s what dry cleaners are for,” he says, his tone rougher than before. But in a good way. “I apologize, I should’ve offered to help with these boxes.”

“It’s my fault. I should’ve used a cart to move them from my car.” Easing my hand out of his, I scoot away so I don’t crawl into his lap. “In fact, I think I’m going to get one right now. Avoid further disasters.”

He looks uncertain, so I add, “I swear I’m fine. Just”—a silly high-pitched giggle rides the word—“ha-ha! Clumsy.”

“If you’re sure.” Getting to his feet, he holds out his hand. Again.

I shouldn’t touch him again, but I do. And there’s that shudder, this time going straight to my core. Like somebody took a broom to the dust and cobwebs down there.

When he pulls me up, momentum drives me right into his chest, flattening my breasts against hard-as-granite pecs and knocking us both off balance. We do an awkward little dance to find our feet. Almost in slow motion, his eyes dip to my lips, and I lean in, needing his kiss more than I need my next breath.

“Josh?” Euro Voice echoes down the hall. “You’re missing the thought shower.”

I stumble back, muttering, “I’m going to get that cart now.” And then I book it down the hall before I do anything else I’ll regret.

By the time I return, the boxes are neatly stacked. The man that’ll surely play a starring role in my dreams tonight even picked up the markers and glue sticks that flew out of the open crate I’d stupidly balanced on top.

I’m battling the urge to just grab him and kiss him when another man steps between us, flocked by the rest of the group. “You’re needed up front, Josh. A/B testing will be required to maximize front-end user experience and…”

As his gibberish continues, the voice and face click, and I realize why he sounded so familiar. “Elijah Ransom? Is that you?”

Pausing mid-monologue, he cocks his head to the side, like a bird. “It is. Do I know you?”

“Only since eighth grade.” He continues to stare at me like I’m a particularly challenging puzzle, so I add, “When you moved to Climax?”

“My apologies, when I’m excited about a new project, my prosopagnosia escalates.” Elijah presses his hands together in front of his chest and bows at me. “Remind me of your name?”

Josh places a light hand on my elbow, making my knees wobblier than a Jell-O salad at a Fourth of July picnic, and murmurs into my ear. “Prosopagnosia is commonly called face blindness. It’s a neurological disorder that prevents people from recognizing even those they know well.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry for your loss,” I say to Elijah. “I’m Avery Mills. It’s nice to see you again, and nice to meet you, uh…”

As Josh lifts his hand from my arm and I catch the flash of gold on his ring finger, my words fade away. News flash: the man I’ve been drooling over for the past fifteen minutes iswearing a wedding ring. I may be a fudge up, but I don’t mess around with married men.

Pasting on a polite smile, I step away from the group. “If you will excuse me, I need to get to work.”

The word “work” seems to spark something in the suits, because they all begin to talk at once, vying for Elijah’s attention. When I move to the cart, I can almost feel Josh wanting to follow, but he doesn’t step up to help me. Before I can ogle him one last time, however, the director of Climax Parks and Rec steps into the foyer, and everyone stops talking again. Hands on hips, Leia Blake—aka my best friend/boss—lifts her chin to aim a glare at the man obviously in charge.

Aka, her on-again, off-again high school boyfriend, at least until he disappeared right before junior prom.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Elijah Ransom?”

ChapterTwo

JOSH

Until today, I had no idea that big round eyes, a heart-shaped face, and perfect Cupid’s bow lips were my catnip. In a cartoon, she’d likely have woodland creatures or elves flocking to her, but in real life, Avery Mills has cast a spell on me. When we touched, each and every part of me relaxed —except one, which she awakened from a deep, deep slumber—making me want to get as close to her as humanly possible.

Could be magic, could be a hallucination brought on by whatever industrial-strength cleaner they use on the floors, but whatever the cause, I cannot afford to be spellbound right now.

I cannot be thinking inappropriate thoughts while I’m working at my brand-new job. And not just any job, but one that I’m pretty damn sure was a pity hire. And not just at my brand-new pity hire job, but the job that involved moving my family to the middle of nowhere.

But I’ve only been in the Climax Parks and Rec center for fifteen minutes and it’s clear that this part of my job is a disaster in the making. I’m hitting on women and making them drop things, and Eli is making enemies right and left.

When the new voice echoing through the foyer has my boss’s face turning even paler than usual, I force my attention away from the magical Avery to the object of his dismay. Noting the venomous expression on the face of the petite brunette in the doorway, I step in before things go from bad to worse.

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