Page 13 of The Single Dad Dilemma

And that’s another thing. Normally, I’d have eaten by now. But Lou wanted to make Darcy breakfast and have coffee ready for her. I didn’t hate the idea, so I dragged myself out of bed to make sure I had time for all of it.

I check the clock on the microwave and note that Darcy could show up at any moment. We’re inside a thirty-minute window of when I asked her to arrive, and she feels like the type to be early because it’s her idea of being on time. Not that I would ever complain about punctuality.

But I’m also acutely aware and equally annoyed with myself for feeling frazzled. I don’t know her well enough to feel frazzled by her. I didn’t even know it was possible after only meeting someone once. And did I mention I feel a lot less like a grown-ass man when I’m running around like a teenager and saying words like “frazzled”?

I plate three slices of bacon next to a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs topped with melty cheese, pleased with how they both look. One thing I’ll never understand is how this new generation seemingly doesn’t know how to cook anything. I don’t blame them, though. I blame their parents. If your parents are not using every opportunity to teach you how to do basic life skills, they’re failing you. And yes, I will say that to their faces.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, and I’m suddenly very aware that Darcy is at my door.

“Lou!” I call down the hallway.

She’s in her room getting dressed—or she was half an hour ago. But I know she will want to answer the door with me.

“I’m coming!” she yells back. “Don’t open the door without me.”

I come around the island that separates the kitchen from the open living room and stare at the door. Then I look down the hall again. Seconds pass and my chest starts to feel hot.

Darcy knocks again.Oh my god.She’s probably standing there wondering what the hell is going on. If I were her, I’d start looking around to make sure I have the right place.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I take it out and check my notifications.

DARCY

I think I’m here? I knocked.

Dear God in heaven, Lou, please hurry up.

“I’m here,” she says, coming down the hallway and—what the hell is she wearing?

Lou comes to my side, her hair in perfect braids, as requested. I finished them just before I started making breakfast, and she was still in her sloth pajamas. Now, she’s sporting a pink princess costume gown from her dress-up chest, matching plastic high heels, about ten plastic rings on her fingers, and a crown. She’s also dragging—not wearing—her Monsters Inc. backpack with a stuffed panda inside.

“Lou, I—” I stop mid-sentence because what the hell am I even going to say? And Darcy has been on the porch for what feels like five years, so I shake it off and step toward the door. Lou is by my side, beaming with what might be too much excitement.

Like father, like daughter, I open the door with probably too much gusto.

“Oh, hi,” she says. “Good, I was worried I had the wrong place.”

Le sigh. And there she is in all her fucking adorably sexy glory. She’s dressed more casually than at the interview, in blackleggings that hit mid-calf and a T-shirt with the words “Dream Big” printed over the chest. Her hair is pulled into a claw clip in the back, and she’s added a touch of mascara and something slightly glossy to her lips. Her tortoiseshell glasses have fallen down her nose a bit, and it’s like she’s looking over the rim at me.Good Lord.

“Hi, um, c-come in,” I stutter out.Christ, get a hold of yourself.

“Dad, what’s wrong with your voice?” Lou asks.

Kill me.“Nothing, just need a sip of water,” I lie through my teeth. Damn kids pick up on everything.

“Come in, Darcy,” Lou says, grabbing her by the hand. “We made you breakfast.”

Lou’s use of the term “we” is a little liberal, considering she wasn’t even in the room, but I let it slide.

“Wow, you did?” Darcy asks. “Thank you so much. I didn’t get to eat this morning, so this is perfect.”

“Sit here,” Lou says, practically pushing her onto one of the stools at the island. The side facing the living room has a nice overhang that’s perfect for a few stools, so I never bothered getting a dining room table since that was more than enough space to accommodate the two of us.

I have about a hundred questions I want to ask her, like: How come you didn’t eat this morning? Were you running late? Are you single? And if so, how? It gets more ludicrous from there, so instead, I simply set the plate in front of her and add two biscuits.

“Would you like some coffee?” I ask, finally sounding halfway coherent.

“Yes, please,” she says, looking up at me with those big blue doe eyes.

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