Page 15 of Tempting the Single Dad
"No, not ominous," he says quickly, turning to face me more fully. "Just... important."
I set my sandwich aside, suddenly not hungry. "I'm listening."
He takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "Miranda, I know this is fast. Impossibly fast. We've known each other for three days, and already I'm feeling things I didn't expect to feel again. Ever." He runs a hand through his hair."I'm scared. Not of how I feel about you, that's the clearest thing I've known in years. I'm scared of how fast it's happening, of involving Diana when you're only here temporarily, of the age difference mattering more than I want it to."
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This is the confident man who ran his farm with easy authority, who handled Diana's crisis with steady calm, who guided me through pleasure with sure hands. Yet here he sits, struggling to find words.
I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. His palm is warm against mine, calloused from farm work.
"David," I say, waiting until his eyes meet mine. "I'm scared too."
His eyebrows lift in surprise. "You are?"
"Of course I am. I came to Whitetail Falls for a temporary posting. Three months, then back to Boston. That was the plan." I squeeze his hand. "But now there's you. And Diana. And this town that already feels more like home than anywhere I've lived in years."
"What are you saying?" His voice is careful, measured, as if he's afraid to hope.
I take a deep breath, gathering courage. "I'm saying that plans change. That sometimes you find something you weren't looking for, and it changes everything."
A leaf drifts down from the oak tree, landing on his shoulder. I reach up to brush it away, letting my fingers linger against the solid warmth of him.
"The age difference," he begins, but I cut him off with a gentle press of my finger to his lips.
"Is nothing," I say firmly. "You're not some predatory older man, David. You're just... you. Kind and steady and wonderful with Diana. The age gap only matters if we let it matter."
His eyes search mine, looking for doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that sends warmth cascading through me.
"And Diana?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. "She's already so attached to you. If this doesn't work out—"
"It will," I interrupt, surprising myself with my certainty. "I know that sounds naive, but I've never felt this sure about anything. Not even medicine, and I've wanted to be a doctor since I was ten."
He smiles at that, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "You are pretty confident in the exam room. The way you handled Diana that first day..." He shakes his head in wonder. "I knew then that you were something special."
"I just treated her like a person, not a patient," I say with a shrug. "Kids know when you're really seeing them."
"It was more than that," he insists, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist. "You saw her pain and didn't try to fix it or dismiss it. You just... made space for it."
The simple observation catches me off guard, warming me from the inside out.
"That's what good doctors do," I say softly.
"And good people," he adds, his eyes holding mine. "Good partners."
The word 'partners' hangs in the air between us, weighted with possibility.
"Miranda," he says, his voice dropping lower. "I need you to know that I don't do casual. Not ever, but especially not with Diana in the picture."
"It's not casual for me either," I assure him. "Not even a little bit."
Relief washes over his face, followed by something deeper, more intense. He lifts a hand to my cheek, his palm warm against my skin.
"I wasn't looking for this," he murmurs, his eyes tracing my features. "After Elisa died, I was sure that part of my life was over. I had Diana, the farm, my mom to help with everything. And then when Mom passed..." He swallows hard. "I was just trying to keep us afloat. Keep Diana safe. I wasn't looking for anything else."
"And then I showed up and complicated everything," I say with a small smile.
"You showed up and made everything clear," he corrects, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Like suddenly seeing in color after years of black and white."
The poetry of his words catches me off guard. This farmer with his flannel shirts and calloused hands contains multitudes I've only begun to discover.
