Page 55 of Pucking the Single Dad
We worked hip to hip in the small space, Brad's hands covering mine to demonstrate proper folding technique. The innocent instruction became something else as he stood behind me, his chest against my back, voice low in my ear as he explained the science of crystallization.
"Too much air and it becomes foam," he murmured, his breath warm against my neck. "Too little and it's basically frozen milk."
"And what do you want?" I asked, the question carrying more weight than ice cream warranted.
His hands stilled on mine. "The perfect balance. Something sweet but complex. Something that surprises you with each taste but feels familiar too. Something that makes you want more even when you know you should stop."
We weren't talking about ice cream anymore.
The workshop's "share your love story" segment caught us completely off-guard. Other couples were taking turns, and suddenly the microphone was in Brad's hand.
He looked at me, panic flickering in his eyes, and I knew he was about to make excuses. Instead, I took the microphone.
"We met during the worst storm in years," I began, weaving truth with fiction so seamlessly I almost believed it myself. "I was terrified, completely out of my element, and this man—this ridiculous, overprotective, wonderful man—took me in without question. He shared his home, his son, his life with a stranger because it was the right thing to do."
I looked at Brad, letting everything I felt show in my eyes. "Except somewhere between emergency procedures and bedtime stories, between cooking and homework help, I stopped being a stranger. And he stopped being just shelter from the storm."
Brad took the microphone, his voice rough. "She makes everything better," he said simply. "My son smiles more. The house feels alive again. I remember what it's like to want tomorrow to come, not just survive today. She didn't fix us—we weren't broken. But she showed us we had room to grow, space we didn't know existed until she filled it."
The room erupted in applause and more than a few tears. I saw one woman mouth "beautiful" to her husband, and I wanted to tell her it wasn't performance. Every word was true, even if the timeline was creative.
Our ice cream—honey lavender with Colorado wildflower infusion and crystallized ginger (the cotton candy idea was vetoed by democratic process)—won second place. Brad lifted me off my feet in celebration, spinning me as Ilaughed, and for a moment we forgot we were supposed to be maintaining distance.
On the drive home, he took a detour to a scenic overlook. The sun was setting over the mountains, painting everything gold and amber. We ate our ice cream straight from the container, passing the spoon between us with comfortable intimacy.
"I planned this," Brad said suddenly, apropos of nothing. "Before the Pattersons invaded. Before we—" He gestured vaguely at the space between us where that night lived. "Before everything went nuclear. I wanted to thank you properly, kept chickening out because..."
"Because it would've been a real date."
"Because I wanted it to be a real date." The confession hung between us like a held breath. "I asked Theo to pick up Finn from the Hendersons'. He'll be watching him until nine. We have time to..."
"To what?"
"To stop pretending this is pretending."
I set down the ice cream container, turned to face him fully. "Brad—"
"I know we have rules. I know this complicates everything. I know you're supposed to be temporary, that this is just until your cabin is fixed, that we're doing this for Finn and custody and—"
I kissed him, cutting off his spiral of rationalization. It was different from our other kisses—slower, deliberate, acknowledging everything we'd been denying. When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.
We arrived home to find Finn had made us a certificate in Theo's distinctive handwriting—"World's Best Ice Cream Makers and Parents" with elaborate crayon decorations. Brad and I stood in the driveway, staring at it.
"He called us parents," I said unnecessarily.
"Both of us. Together. Parents plural."
"That doesn't scare you?"
Brad looked at me, vulnerability naked in his eyes. "Everything about this scares me. But not having it? That scares me more."
Chapter 19: Brad
I checked my packed bag for the tenth time, fighting the anxiety clawing at my chest. Three days in Calgary. Three days away from Finn. Three days trusting someone else with everything that mattered. And my first game back since the MCL tear—weeks of rehab condensed into this moment, my knee wrapped and braced like a ticking bomb.
"Brad." Serena's voice cut through my spiral. She stood in my bedroom doorway, watching me with that mix of understanding and exasperation I'd come to depend on. "The medication is labeled. The emergency numbers are posted. The backup inhaler is in my purse, Finn's backpack, the kitchen drawer, and probably three places I haven't told you about. I've got this."
"I know." I forced myself to zip the bag. "I just—"
