Page 20 of Love Songs

His mouth quirked at the corners, as though he was holding back arguing or cracking a joke. But he seemed more relaxed than when he’d first arrived, and relief washed through me at that. I was worried for a minute there that this date would be full of awkward silence and stilted conversation.

“Secondly,” I continued, straightening another finger. “I don’t make a habit of attending bachelor auctions. And third, news of my surprise daughter was all over the entertainment news last year. I’m pretty sure everyone knows about her by now.”

“I didn’t.” Conor shook his head. “I don’t pay much attention to pop culture and what’s going on in the celebrity world. I listen to the music and maybe catch a video occasionally if someone at the station is watching, but other than that, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about you personally.”

“You are so refreshing,” my mouth said before my brain could think better of it.

Conor looked at me for a long few seconds, assessing me with that sharp stare, but he didn’t say anything. I fought the urge to shift in my seat.

“Eyes on the road,” I teased, and he complied, chuckling under his breath. “Anyway. I only found out about her last year. She’s fourteen now.”

“Wow. What a trip,” Conor said. “Just in time for the terrible teens.”

I sighed, not needing the reminder. So far, she was a good kid and far more mature than her fourteen years, but I couldn’tdeny the niggle of worry in the back of my mind. Even though I’d not known about her for thirteen years, now that she was in my life, I’d discovered a protective streak I’d never realized I possessed.

Conor whistled under his breath and shot me a glance, his eyes bright and expression amused. “Dallas Blade, the world-famous rock star, is a single dad.”

I snorted, but it was still a shock to me sometimes too. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Yeah.” He huffed a laugh, but his tone was rueful when he said, “I don’t see that happening.”

Did he mean he didn’t like kids or didn’t want kids? Part of me hoped that wasn’t the case. Even though we’d only just met, I had a feeling he’d make a great dad. But the other part of me wondered why the hell I should care whether he wanted kids or not at all.

Conor didn’t say any more, so I turned my attention out the window to the passing countryside.

We were the only vehicle on the rolling two-lane road that ribboned between lush green pastures and dense forest. We crossed a narrow, covered bridge over a burbling creek and shortly after, Conor slowed when a cluster of connected and free-standing buildings with weathered-wood sidings and red metal roofs came into view. He turned into a gravel parking lot marked with a large sign that readStonebridge Maple Farm. He parked beside a building with brightly colored flowers in baskets on each side of the entrance and lining the walkways.

Conor exited the truck and scanned the area with an intense expression on his face. Looking for his friends, I guessed. A tall, slender woman with her dark hair pulled back into a twist and somehow making jeans and a chambray shirt look elegant, stepped out of one of the buildings and smiled when she saw us.

“Conor,” she said, her eyes warm and kind. “Nice to see you.”

“Hey, Mrs. C.,” Conor said, pulling her into a quick hug.

She gave me a once over, and her smile widened. “And this must be your bachelor auction date.”

“He is,” Conor replied with a cheeky grin. “This is Dallas Blade. Dallas, this is Mrs. Caldwell. Her family owns the maple farm. The Caldwells founded the town, too.”

“Oh, I can’t take credit for that,” Mrs. Caldwell rebuffed with a wave. “I married into the Caldwells.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“And you,” she replied, and then to Conor asked, “Are you going to show him around?”

“Yep. I’ll take him on a private tour.” Conor looked over at me with a coy smile that I suddenly wanted to see more of. “I’ve spent so much time here over the years that I know the place like the back of my hand.”

“Sounds good,” I said, holding his gaze while the temperature rose. Or maybe that was just me, because I was imaging all theprivatethings he could show me.

Mrs. Caldwell beamed, and I hoped she couldn’t read minds. “Don’t forget my maple ice cream before you go home.”

“I would never,” Conor gasped, placing a hand over his chest.

She patted his arm. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Hey,” a voice called, coming up behind them. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“You’re all my favorite,” Mrs. Caldwell said with affection as she pulled a brightly dressed man with a shock of dark, messy curls on his head into a hug.

The newcomer harrumphed but seemed appeased as his big blue eyes landed on me.

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