Page 62 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

“Hey,” I say, planting my hands to my hips. “Biscuit and I both take offense to that.”

“Look, Allie! Look what I got!” Duke’s voice cuts through the lingering awkwardness, as he charges back towards me, holding out a toy airplane, its wings glinting silver even under the harsh fluorescent lights. “We played a trivia game in school today and I won!”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!” I say and crouch to greet him at eye level.

“Isn’t it? Vroom!” He zooms the toy inches from my nose, complete with sound effects that would make any pilot proud. I can’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with Duke’s giggles.

“I bet a plane would help fight thedragon, huh?”

Duke rolls his eyes at me. “You can’t fight a dragon with a plane!”

“Why not?”

“Everyone knows you have to fight a dragon with swords and lasers.”

I thump the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Right. Of course. Silly me. I don’t know as much about dragons as you do.”

The file I found in Thatcher’s desk tickles my memory. Drakon. Dragon. Could there be something here? Is it possible that Duke was onto something when he said he needs to protect his family from the dragon?

“How fast can this thing fly?” I ask, my fingers brushing against the sleek plastic.

Duke runs circles around me, proudly performing a loop-de-loop for my benefit. “Super fast! Faster than Daddy’s car!” He beams, his eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of innocent wonder that makes everything else seem trivial.

“Wow, that’s pretty fast.” I play along.

From my spot kneeling on the floor, I glance up at Thatcher, our eyes locking for a heartbeat. He leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest as he observes me with Duke. He’s not sporting his usual scowl, but he’s also not exactly smiling, either. It isn’t the usual scrutiny or the faintest hint of a challenge; it’s softer, tinged with an unfamiliar warmth that sends a zing of electricity through my nerves.

His kid is a mini cyclone of enthusiasm, and I’m right there in the eye of it, caught up in his energy.

Griffin, ever the human equivalent of a mood light, seems to sense the thick, foggy tension. He sidles up to Thatcher, slinging an arm around his shoulder with theease of someone who’s dodged more than a few bullets with the guy.

“Thatch, I think you’ve got competition,” Griffin quips, nodding towards Duke and me. “Your son’s about to recruit Allie for his elite platoon.”

“Is that so?” Thatcher’s voice rumbles, a smirk finally breaking through that stoic exterior. “Is this true, Private Duke?” Thatcher asks, his voice taking on a playful but commanding tone.

Duke scrambles to his feet with a mock salute, the toy airplane tapping against his brow.

“At ease, team,” Thatcher says, saluting back.

“Copy that, Captain Daddy!”

The phrase “Captain Daddy” does some things to me that frankly, it shouldn’t. Especially not in front of this man’s child. I turn to Thatcher and smile. “Captain? I thought you preferred sir?”

With his hands clasped behind his back, he paces a few steps toward me. “Either will do.” But he doesn’t fool me, I can see he’s fighting his smile as he leans in closer to me to whisper, “If we’re getting technical, I don’t have privates within my platoon either.”

“So, what’s our mission,Captain Daddy?” I ask, unable to help myself with a smirk.

Griffin hides his laugh into his fist by coughing and the corner of Thatcher’s mouth twitches, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“Operation Cookie Jar!” Duke replies with a conspiratorial whisper.

“Ah, our Private Duke is a covert ops specialist, I see,” I manage to say.

“Absolutely,” Thatcher affirms, throwing me a wink. Then he turns to give Dukea mock stern look, though the twinkle in his eye betrays his amusement. “Now, Duke, you know the rules about sweets before dinner.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Duke chants with another salute. “The rule is no sweets before dinner unless it’s a mission!”

“And any good mission needs a good reason. What is the reason behind Mission Cookie Jar, Private?”

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