Page 15 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

“Family…” Thatcher follows my gaze to Missy. “Oh, but?—”

“All right, little man,” Missy says, setting the cookiesdown on the table. “Sanitize those hands before you eat.” She pulls a small bottle out of her purse.

I bend down and pick up Biscuit, still in his bag as well as my purse, slinging both carefully over my shoulder.

“At least take a cookie,” Thatcher says, nudging the plate toward me. “I got the third one for you.”

“But then you won’t have one,” I say.

“Daddy doesn’t eat refined sugar,” Duke says, hopping back into Thatcher’s lap.

I lift a brow at Thatcher. “Your son knows the phraserefined sugar?”

Missy laughs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, you should hear how much this precocious little thing absorbs,” she says, reaching over to tickle Duke’s ribs.

“Please,” Thatcher says. “Take the cookie. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

“Well, okay,” I agree, reaching out and grabbing one of the large chocolate chip cookies.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Allie,” Duke says, flashing me a toothy grin.

“Likewise, Agent Duke,” I call back as I head for the door.

Once outside, I steal one more peek at the cute little family inside the coffee shop. The momentary connection we had must have been entirely in my head. I replace those feelings with my original plan. Unravel the mystery that is Thatcher Bryant—matchmaker, father, and unintentional thief of hearts.

Chapter 6

Thatcher

As Allie’s figure disappears through the doorway of the coffee shop, I can’t help but linger on the sway of her hips and the orange glow of sunshine that seems to gather in her dark hair. She’s beautiful, as simple and undeniable as a mathematical equation. Griffin was spot on—she’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel for our matchmaking service. Easy money to fund our mission.

Duke wiggles in my lap and picks up a fallen chocolate chip from his half-eaten cookie, popping it into his mouth.

I ruffle his dark curls, so like his mother’s, and press a kiss to the top of his head, inhaling the scent of theNo Tearsvanilla shampoo we use every other day.

“Missy,” I say, turning to our nanny with an appreciative nod, “why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?”

“Are you sure?” Missy gives me a doubtful look, before sneaking a quick glance at the time on her phone. “You never take afternoons off.”

I’m well aware of the fact that I’m a workaholic as well as the pile of paperwork waiting for meback in the office, not excluding that Drakon file Hunter delivered right before my meeting with Allie.

“I’m positive.” I drop my cheek to the top of Duke’s head and inhale his scent deeply. How many afternoons will I get with my son before he’s running off with friends? Before he’s too busy with sports and extracurriculars and girlfriends to want to spend time with his old man? I muster a smile, hoping it doesn’t betray the sadness tugging at my insides.

“Okay, then.” She gathers her things and waves at Duke. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Duke!”

“Bye!” He waves back at her with chocolate-covered fingers that I quickly intercept and wipe with a napkin before I’m wearing half of that chocolate myself.

With a final smile, she heads out, leaving the two of us alone.

“All right, little man.” I lift Duke off my lap and deposit him in the chair beside me. “What’s the game plan for dinner?”

“PIZZA!” he declares without hesitation, crumbs flying in all directions. The cookie has almost all but disappeared.

“Hmmm, I was thinking something a little healthier. We have some chicken and broccoli at home,” I counter.

He pauses, his face twisting as he considers this. “What if we get chicken and broccolionour pizza?”

“If we do that, then you can’t pick it off,” I warn him. “You have to eat the chicken and broccoli, too.”

---