Page 11 of Tempting the Single Dad
As Diana becomes engrossed in a conversation with the little girl across from us about their matching pumpkin face paintings, Miranda shifts slightly closer to me.
The brush of her thigh against mine, even through layers of denim, reignites the embers still smoldering from our time in the barn.
"Your daughter is amazing," she murmurs, her breath warm against my ear. "The way she processes grief through stars and drawings... she's incredibly resilient."
"She gets that from her mother," I say, the words coming easier than they once did. "Elisa could find hope in anything. Even when she was sick, she'd focus on the smallest joys like a perfect tomato from the garden, or the way the light hit the barn in the evening."
Miranda's hand finds mine beneath the blanket. "I wish I could have known her."
"She would have liked you," I admit, surprised to find I believe it. "She always said I needed someone who wouldn't let me brood too much."
Miranda's laugh is soft. "Do you brood? I hadn't noticed."
The teasing lightens something in me. I squeeze her fingers, marveling at how right they feel intertwined with mine. But as the wagon creaks around a bend, doubt creeps in again, as cold and insistent as the night air.
"About earlier," I begin, keeping my voice low enough that Diana can't hear. "I hope you don't think that's... typical for me."
Her eyebrow arches. "Sneaking away for barn encounters at community festivals? I should hope not."
"I'm serious, Miranda." I trace circles on her palm with my thumb. "I don't do casual. Especially not with Diana in the picture. And you're so much younger—"
"Not so much," she interrupts, her voice firm despite its softness. "And do I strike you as someone who doesn't know what she wants?"
The challenge in her eyes makes me smile despite myself. "No. You definitely know your own mind."
"Then trust that," she says simply. "Trust me to know what I'm feeling. And trust yourself a little more, David."
The way she says my name, like it's something precious held in her mouth, nearly undoes me. I want to kiss her again, right here under the stars, but Diana leans back against us, breaking the moment.
"Miranda," she says, tilting her head to look up at her. "Do you know any constellations?"
It's a question she'd normally direct at me, and the shift doesn't escape my notice. Something warm and bittersweet blooms in my chest as Miranda launches into a story about learning the zodiac constellations from her grandfather.
"He had this old telescope," she tells Diana, who listens with rapt attention. "And every clear night, we'd go out to the backyard and look at the stars. He taught me that Scorpio, that's my sign, looks like a giant S in the sky."
"Can you show me?" Diana asks.
Miranda searches the sky, then points. "There. See those three bright stars in a curve? That's the scorpion's tail."
Diana squints up, then nods excitedly. "I see it! Dad, do you see it?"
"I do," I say, though I'm not looking at the stars. I'm watching the two of them, heads tilted together, Miranda's arm wrapped around my daughter's shoulders. The sight fills me with a longing so fierce it's almost pain.
My phone buzzes, shattering the moment.
"Everything okay?" she asks, noting my frown.
"Just festival logistics. There's a mix-up with the pumpkin judging entries." I sigh, glancing at Diana, who's still pointing out stars to the little girl across from us. "I'm on the committee. They need me to sort something out when we get back."
"Of course you are," Miranda says with a grin. "Pumpkin farmer, single dad, community volunteer. Is there anything you don't do?"
"Dance," I deadpan. "Ask anyone who saw me at last year's Harvest Dance. It wasn't pretty."
Her laugh carries on the night air, drawing smiles from other passengers. "I don't believe you. I bet you're just saying that so I'll offer to teach you."
"Is it working?"
She bumps her shoulder against mine. "Maybe."
