Page 6 of Tempting the Single Dad
My throat tightens. "It helps her to have something concrete to look for."
"You're doing an amazing job with her, David." She turns to face me, her expression earnest in the soft porch light. "She's resilient and creative and so full of love."
"Some days I feel like I'm failing her completely," I admit, the words escaping before I can catch them. "After my mother died, it was like losing our compass. She knew how to help Diana through losing Elisa. I'm just... figuring it out as I go."
Miranda's hand finds mine in the darkness, her fingers warm and steady. "That's all any of us are doing. It’s our first time here too, you know?"
We stand there in the quiet, her hand in mine, watching the stars emerge over the pumpkin fields.
"Will you really come tomorrow?" I ask finally. "To the festival?"
She turns to me, her face half in shadow, half illuminated by the soft glow from the kitchen window. "Try to keep me away."
And in that moment, I realize I'm already falling for the doctor from Boston who smells like cinnamon and makes my daughter speak again.
Chapter 3 – Miranda
The Whitetail Falls Fall Festival blooms before me like a scene from a movie I never knew I wanted to star in. Acorn Circle pulses with golden light, mason jars flickering on windowsills, and jack-o'-lanterns grinning from every available surface. The massive oak tree at the center, draped in fairy lights, drops amber leaves that twirl like dancers in the crisp evening air.
"It's magical," I breathe, tightening my grip on Diana's hand as we navigate the crowded cobblestones. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the constellation of lights above us.
"Wait till you see the pumpkin display," she says, tugging me forward with newfound confidence. "Dad's are the biggest."
I catch David's eye over Diana's head, and the slow smile that spreads across his face makes my stomach flip. He's traded his usual flannel for a dark blue button-down that stretches deliciously across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to expose forearms.
"Sounds like serious business," I say, breathing in the mingled scents of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and apple cider. "Are there actual pumpkin rivalries in Whitetail Falls?"
"You have no idea." David's hand settles lightly on the small of my back as he guides us through the crowd. "Last year, someone accused Farmer Lewis of using growth hormones. There was almost a pitchfork standoff."
His touch is casual but electric, sending warmth radiating up my spine.
We stop at a booth where a woman with silver-streaked braids is checking in children for the kids' activities area. A neat row ofwristbands and clipboards suggests a level of organization that soothes my doctor-brain.
"Ms. Bennett," David says warmly. "This is Dr. Miranda Allen, new pediatrician in town."
"Ah! The miracle worker who got our Diana talking again." Her eyes crinkle with genuine warmth as she extends her hand. "The whole teachers' lounge has been buzzing about it."
Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I just happened to be there at the right time."
"Modesty," Ms. Bennett says with a wink. "I like that in a doctor." She turns to Diana. "Ready for some fun? We've got pumpkin painting, a hay maze, and apple bobbing."
Diana looks up at David, then me, uncertainty flickering across her face.
I crouch to her level. "What do you think? Want to show the other kids how it's done?"
She bites her lip, then nods. "Will you and Dad still be here?"
"Promise," David says, crouching beside me. The nearness of him, his clean cedar scent and the warmth radiating from his body momentarily distracts me. "We'll be helping with the pumpkin display right over there. See those tables?"
"Two parent volunteers, security at entry and exit, wristbands, and thirty-minute safety checks," Ms. Bennett assures me, correctly reading my professional concern.
"She's in good hands," David murmurs close to my ear as Diana skips off with a group of children. "Ms. Bennett raised four kids of her own and has been teaching for decades. Plus, I can see the whole area from the pumpkin table."
"Sorry," I laugh, embarrassed at being so transparent. "Occupational hazard. I've spent too many ER shifts patching up injuries."
"It's cute," he says, his voice dropping lower. "You being all protective."
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the festival around us blurs into background noise. Then someone calls his name, breaking the spell.
